,^cf^,^ 


7 


i 


WILLY  REILLY, 


AND 


HIS    DEAR    COLEEN    BAWN 


A  TALE,   FOUNDED  UPON  FACT. 


BY 


WILLIAM    CARLETON, 


OTHOR    OF      'THE  BLACK    PROPHET,"     "THE    MISER,"    "    REDHALL,  OR   THE    BARONET'S 

DAUGHTER,"    "TRAITS  AND  STORIES  OF  THE  IRISH  PEASANTRY," 
r  "  VALENTINE   M'CLUTCHY,"  ETC. 


'  O,  rise  up,  Willy  Reilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me ; 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you,  and  leave  this  counterie ; 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands'; — 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Coleen  Bawn." 

Ballad  of  "  Willy  Reilly." 

"  Ah,  me !  for  ought  that  ever  I  could  read. 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history. 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." 

Shakespeare. 


NEW  YORK: 
GEORGE    MUNRO'S   SONS,    PUBLISHERS. 

17  TO  27  VANDEWATER   STREET. 


PREFACE. 

Most  of  our  Irish  readers  must  be  aware  that  the  following 
storj  is  founded  upon  an  incident  in  the  history  of  the  affec- 
tions,   which,   ever   since   its    occurrence,    has   occupied   a 
..rge  portion  of  popular  interest.     From  the  very  first  dis- 
^very  of  their  attachment,  the  loves  of  "  Willy  Eeilly  "  and 
s  *'  Fair  Coleen  Bawn  "  became  celebrated,  and  were  made 
3  burden   of   many    a   rude   ballad   throughout   Ireland, 
th  the  exception,   however,  of  the  one  which  we  subjoin, 
y  have  all  disappeared  ;  but  that  production,  rude  as  it  is, 
stood  its  ground,  and  is  permanently  embodied  as  a  favor- 
in  the  ballad  poetry  of  the  people.  It  is  not,  though  couched 
lumble  and  unpretending  language,  without  a  good  deal  of 
•;tic  vigor,  and,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  a 
id  of  inartistic  skill,  furnished  either  by  chance  or  nature 
it  is  difficult  to  determine  which.     We  are  of  opinion,  how- 
3r,  that  it  owes  a  great  portion  of  its  permanent  popularity 
o   feelings  which   have   been    transmitted  to   the   people, 
-rising,  not  so  much  from  the  direct  interest  of  the  incidents 
embodied  in  it,  as  from  the  political  spirit  of  the  times  in 
wdiich   they  occurred.      At  that  unhappy  period   the  Penal 
Laws  were  in  deadly  and  terrible  operation ;  and  we  need  not 
be  surprised  that  a  young  and  handsome  Catholic  should  earn 
a  boundless  popularity,  especially  among  those  of  his  own 
creed,  by  the  daring  and  resolute  act  of  taking  away  a  Protes- 
tant heiress— the  daughter  of  a  persecutor — and  whose  fame, 
from  her  loveliness  and  accomplishments,  had  already  become 
proverbial  among  the  great  body  of  the  Irish  people,  and  in- 
deed throughout  all  classes.     It  was  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of 
triumph  over  the  persecutors  ;  and,  in  this  instance,  Cupid 


4  PREFACE. 

liimself  seemed  to  espouse  the  cause  of  the  beads  and  rosary, 
and  to  become  a  tight  little  Catholic.  The  character  of  Sir 
Eobert  White  craft  (a  fictitious  name)  is  drawn  from  traditions 
which  were  some  time  ago  floating  among  the  people,  but 
which  are  fast  fading  out  of  the  popular  mind.  The  mode  of  his 
death,  and  its  concomitants,  the  author  has  often  heard  told 
in  his  3^outh,  around  the  hob,  during  the  long  winter  even- 
ings. With  respect  to  the  description  of  the  state  of  the  un- 
happy Catholics,  however,  I  may  have  diminished,  I  have  not 
exaggerated  it ;  and  I  trust  that  I  have  done  ample  justice  to 
the  educated  Protestants  of  the  day,  many  of  whom  not  on- 
ly opposed  the  Government  openly  and  directly — whose  ob- 
ject was  extermination  by  the  withering  operation  of  oppres- 
sive laws — but  threw  up  their  commissions  as  justices  of  the 
peace,  and  refused  to  become  the  tools  and  abettors  of  re- 
ligious persecution.  To  such  noble-minded  men  I  trust  I 
have  rendered  ample  justice.  The  following  is  the  celebra- 
ted ballad  of  "Willy  Eeilly,"  which  is  still  sung,  and  will 
long  continue  to  be  sung,  at  many  a  hearth  in  Ireland  :-  - 

"  0  rise  up,  Willy  Keilly,  and  come  alongst  with  me, 
I  mean  for  to  go  with  you  and  leave  this  counterie, 
To  leave  my  father's  dwelling,  his  houses  and  free  lands;" — 
And  away  goes  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear  Coleen  Bawn, 

They  go  by  hills  and  mountains,  and  by  yon  lonesome  plain, 
Through  shady  groves  and  valleys,  all  dangers  to  refrain  ; 
But  her  father  followed  after,  with  a  well -armed,  chosen  band, 
And  taken  was  poor  Reilly   and  his  dear  Coleen  Bawn. 

It's  home  then  she  was  taken,  and  in  her  closet  bound; 
Poor  Reilly  all  in  Sligo  jail  lay  on  the  stony  ground, 
Till  at  the  bar  of  justice  before  the  judge  he'd  stand. 
For  nothing  but  the  stealing  of  his  dear  Coleen  Ba^s-n, 

"Now  in  the  cold,    cold  iron,  my  hands  and  feet  are  bound, 
I'm  handcuffed  like  a  murderer,  and  tied  unto  the  ground; 
But  all  this  toil  and  slavery  I'm  willing  for  to  stand. 
Still  hoping  to  be  succored  by  my  dear  Coleen  Bawn." 

The  jailer's  son  to  Reilly  goes,  and  thus  to  him  did  say: 
"0  get  up,  Willy  Reilly  ;  you  must  appear  this  day, 

For  great  Squire  Folliard's  anger  you  never  can  withstand 
•   I'm  feared  you'll  suffer  sorely  for  your  dear  Coleen  Bawn. 

'•  This  is  the  news,  young  Reilly,  last  night  that  I  did  hear, 
The  lady's  oath  will  hang  you, or  else  will  set  you  clear.'' 

*'If  that  be  so,"   says  Reilly,  ''her  pleasure  I  will  stand, 
Still  hoping  to  be  succored  by  Diy  dear  Coleen  Bawn." 


PREFACE.  5 

Now  Willy's  drest  from  top  to  toe  all  in  a  suit  of  green, 
His  hair  hangs  o'er  his  shoulders  most  glorious  to  be  seen  ; 
He's  tall  and  straight,  and  comely,  as  any  could  be  found, 
He's  fit  for  Folliard's  daughter,  was  she  heiress  to  a  crown. 

The  Judge,  he  said:  *'  T'as  lady  being  in  her  tender  youth, 
If  Reilly  has  deluded  her,  she  will  declare  the  truth." 
'J'hen,  like  a  moving  beauty  bright,  before  him  she  did  stand  : — 
"  You're  welcome  there,  my  heart's  delight  and  dear  Coleen  Bawn  I" 

••  0  gentlemen,"  Squire  Folliard  said,  "  \Yith  pity  look  on  me, 
This  villain  came  amongst  us  to  disgrace  our  family  ; 
And  by  his  base  contrivances  this  villany  has  planned  ; 
If  I  don't  get  satisfaction  I  will  quit  this  Irish  land." 

The  lady  with  a  tear  began,  and  thus  replied  she: 
•?  The  fault  is  none  of  Eeilly's,  the  blame  lies  all  on  me  ; 
I  forced  him  for  to  leave  his  place  and  come  along  with  me ; 
I  loved  him  out  of  measure,  which  has  wrought  our  destiny.  ' 

Then  out  bespoke  the  noble  Fox,*  at  the  table  he  stood  by, 
•"  O  gentlemen,  consider  on  this  extremity, 
To  hang  a  man  for  love  is  a  murder,  you  may  see. 
So  spare  the  life  of  Keilly,  let  him  leave  this  counterie." 

'^  Good  my  Lord,  he  stole  from  her  her  diamonds  and  her  rings, 
Gold  watch  and  silver  buckles,  and  many  precious  things, 
Which  cost  me  in  bright  guineas  more  than  five  hundred  pounds. 
I  will  have  the  life  of  Reilly  should  I  lose  ten  thousand  pounds." 

"  Good  my  Lord,  I  gave  them  him  as  tokens  of  true  love  ; 
And  when  we  are  a-parting,  I  will  them  all  remove  : 
If  you  have  got  them,  Reilly,  pray  send  them  home  to  me  , 
They're  poor  compared  to  that  true  heart  which  I  have  given  to  thee. 

*'  There  is  a  ring  among  them  I  allow  yourself  to  wear. 
With  thirty  locket  diamonds,  well  set  in  silver  fair, 
And  as  a  true-love  token  wear  it  on  your  right  hand. 
That  you  may  think  on  my  broken  heart  when  you're  in  a  foreign  land," 

This  ballad  I  found  in  a  state  of  wretched  disorder.  It 
passed  from  one  individual  to  another  by  ear  alone  ;  and  the 
inconsecutive  position  of  the  verses,  occasioned  by  inaccu- 
racy of  memory  and  ignorance,  has  sadly  detracted  from  its 
genuine  force.  As  it  existed  in  the  oral  versions  of  the  popu- 
lace, the  narrative  was  grossly  at  variance  with  the  regular 
progress  of  circumstances  which  characterize  a  trial  of  any 
kind,  but  especially  such  a  trial  as  that  which  it  undertakes 
to  describe.  The  individuals  concerned  in  it,  for  instance, 
are  made  to  speak  out  of  j^lace  ;  and  it  would  appear,  from 
all  the  versions  that  I  have  heard,  as  if  every  stanza  was 

His  counsel,  a  celebrated  advocate  and  afterwards  a  Judge, 


PREFACE. 


assigned  its  position  by  lot.  This  fact,  however,  I  have  just 
accounted  for  and  remedied,  hj  having  restored  them  to  their 
original  places,  so  that  the  vigorous  but  rustic  bard  is  not 
answerable  for  the  confusion  to  which  unprinted  poetry,  sung 
by  an  uneducated  people,  is  liable.  As  the  ballad  now  stands, 
the  character  of  the  poet  is  satisfactorily  vindicated ;  and 
the  disorder  which  crept  in  during  the  course  of  time,  though 
strongly  calculated  to  weaken  its  influence,  has  never  been 
able  to  injure  its  fame,  This  is  a  high  honor  to  its  composer, 
and  proves  him  well  worthy  of  the  popularity  vvhich,  under 
such  adverse  circumstances,  has  taken  so  firm  a  hold  of  the 
peasant-feeling,  and  survived  so  long. 

The  author  trusts  that  he  has  avoided,  as  far  as  the  truth- 
ful treatment  of  this  subject  would  enable  him,  the  expres- 
sion of  any  political  sentiment  calculated  to  give  offence  to 
any  party — an  attempt  of  singular  difficulty  in  a  country  so 
miserably  divided  upon  the  religious  feeling  as  this.  The  ex- 
perience of  centuries  should  teach  statesmen  and  legislators 
that  persecution,  on  account  of  creed  and  conscience,  is  Qot 
only  bad  feeling,  but  worse  policy ;  and  if  the  author,  in 
these  pages,  has  succeeded  in  conveying  this  self-evident  truth 
to  his  readers,  he  will  rest  satisfied  with  that  result,  however 
severely  the  demerits  of  his  work  may  be  censured  upon 
purely  literary  grounds.  One  thing  may  be  said  in  his  de- 
fence— that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  dissociate  the  loves 
of  this  celebrated  couple  from  the  condition  of  the  country 
and  the  operation  of  the  merciless  laws  which  prevailed 
against  the  Catholics  in  their  day.  Had  the  lovers  both  been 
Catholics,  or  both  been  Protestants,  this  might  have  been 
avoided  ;  but,  as  political  and  religious  matters  then  stood, 
to  omit  the  state  and  condition  of  society  which  resulted  from 
them,  would  be  somewhat  like  leaving  the  character  of  Ham- 
let out  of  the  tragedy. 

As  the  work  was  first  written,  I  described  n  good  many  of 
the  Catholic  priests  of  the  day  as  disguised  in  female  apparel ; 
but  on  discovering  that  there  exists  an  ecclesiastical  regula- 
tion or  canon  forbidding  any  priest,  under  whatever  perse- 


PREFACE.  7 

cution  or  pressure,  to  assume  sncli  an  apparel  for  the  purpose 
of  disguising  liis  person  or  saving  his  life,  I  of  course  changed 
that  portion  of  the  matter,  although  a  layman  might  well  be 
pardoned  for  his  ignorance  of  an  ecclesiastical  statute, 
which,  except  in  very  rare  cases,  can  be  known  only  to  ec- 
clesiastics themselves.  I  retain  one  instance,  however,  of 
this  description,  which  I  ascribe  to  Hennessy,  the  degraded 
iriar,  who  is  an  historical  character,  and  who  wrought  a  vast 
weight  of  evil,  as  an  informer,  against  the  Catholic  priest- 
hood of  Ireland,  both  regular  and  secular. 

With  respect  to  the  family  name  of  the  heroine  and  her 
father,  I  have  adopted  both  the  popular  pronunciation  and 
orthography,  instead  of  the  real.  I  give  it  simply  as  I  found 
it  in  the  ballad,  and  as  I  always  heard  it  pronounced  by  the 
people ;  in  the  first  place  from  reluctance,  by  writing  it  ac- 
curately, to  give  offence  to  that  portion  of  this  highly  re- 
spectable family  which  still  exists  ;  and  in  the  next — from 
a  disinclination  to  disturb  the  original  impressions  made  on 
the  popular  mind  by  the  ballad  and  the  traditions  associated 
with  it.  So  far  as  the  traditions  go,  there  was  nothing  con- 
nected with  the  heroine  of  which  her  descendants  need  feel 
ashamed.  If  it  had  been  otherwise,  her  memory  never  would 
have  been  enshrined  in  the  affections  of  the  Irish  people  for 
such  an  unusual  period  of  time. 

Dublin,  February,  1855. 


WILLY   REILLY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN  ADVENTURE  AND  AN  ESCAPE. 

Spirit  of  George  Prince  Regent  James,  Esq.,  forgive 
me  this  commencement ! 

It  was  one  evening  at  the  close  of  a  Septembei-  month 
and  a  September  day,  that  two  equestrians  might  be 
observed  passing  along  one  of  those  old  and  lonely 
Irish  roads  that  seemed,  from  the  nature  of  its  con- 
struction, to  have  been  paved  by  a  society  of  anti- 
quarians, if  a  person  could  judge  from  its  obsolete 
character,  and  the  difficulty,  without  risk  of  neck  and 
limb,  of  riding  a  horse  or  driving  a  carriage  along  it. 
Ireland,  as  our  English  readers  ought  to  know,  has 
always  been  a  country  teeming  with  abundance, — a 
happy  land,  in  which  want,  destitution,  sickness,  and 
famine  liave  never  been  felt  or  known,  except  through 
the  mendacious  misrepresentations  of  her  enemies. 
The  road  we  speak  of  was  a  proof  of  this ;  for  it  was 
evident  to  every  observer  that  in  some  season  of  super- 
abundant food  the  people,  not  knowing  exactly  how 
to  dispose  of  their  shilling  loaves,  took  to  paving  the 
common  roads  with  them,  rather  than  they  should  be 
utterly  useless.  These  loaves,  in  the  course  of  time, 
underwent  the  process  of  petrifaction,  but  could  not, 
nevertheless^  be  looked  upon  as  wholly  lost  to  the 
country.  A  great  number  of  the  Irish,  within  the 
last  four  years,  took  a  peculiar  fancy  for  them  as  food, 


12  WILLY    REILLY. 

which,  we  presume,  caused  their  enemies  to  say  that 
we  then  had  hard  times  in  Ireland.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
it  enabled  the  sagacious  epicures  who  hved  upon  them 
to  retire,  in  due  course,  to  the  delightful  retreats  of 
Skull  and  Skibbereen,  and  similar  asylums,  there  to 
pass  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in  health,  ease,  and 
luxury. 

The  evening,  as  we  have  said,  was  about  the  close  of 
September,  when  the  two  equestrians  we  speak  of  were 
proceeding  at  a  pace  necessarily  slow.     One  of  them 
was  a  bluff,   fresh-complexioned  man,  of  about  sixty 
summers :  but  although  of  a  healthy  look,  and  a  frame 
that  had  evidently  once  been  vigorous,  yet  he  was  a 
good  deal  stooped,  had  about  him  all  the  impotence  of 
plethora,  and  his  hair,  which  fell  down  liis  shoulders, 
was  white  as  snow.     The  other,  who  rode  pretty  close 
to  him,  was  much  about  his  own  age,  or  perhaps  a  few 
years  older,  if  one  could  judge  by  a  face  that  gave 
more  undeniable  evidences  of  those  furrows  and  wrin- 
kles which  Time  usually  leaves  behind  him.    This  per- 
son did  not  ride  exactly  side  by  side  with  the  first  meuT 
tioned  but  a  little  aback,  though  not  so  far  as  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  conversation.     At  this  time  it  may  be 
mentioned  here  that  every  man  who  could  afford  it  wore 
a  wig,  with  the  exception  of  some  of  those  eccentric  in- 
dividuals that  are  to  be  found  in  every  state  and  period 
of  society,  and  who  are  remarkable  for  that  peculiar  love 
of  singularity  wliich  generally  constitutes  their  charac- 
ter,— a  small  and  harmless  ambition,  easily   gfratified, 
and  mvolving  no  injury  to  their  fellow-creatures.    The 
second  horseman,  therefore,  wore  a  wig ;  but  the  other, 
although  he  eschewed  that  ornament,  if  it  can  be  called 
so,  was  by  no  means  a  man  of  that  mild  and  harmless 
character   which  we  have  attributed  to  the    eccentric 
and  unfashionable  class  of  whom  we  liave  just  spoken. 
So  far  from  that,  he  was  a  man   of  an  obstinate  and 
violent  temper,  of  strong  and  ixnreflecting  prejudice, 


WILLY    RKILLY.  IS 

both  for  good  and  evil,  liot,  persevering  and  vindictive, 
though  personally  brave,  intrepid,  and  often  generous. 
Like  many  of  his  class,  he  never  troubled  bis  head 
about  rehgion  as  a  matter  that  must,  and  ought  to  luive 
been,  personally,  of  the  chiefest  interest  to  hiniselt'; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  looked  upon  as  one  of 
the  best  and  staunchest  Protestants  of  the  day.  His 
loyalty  and  devotedness  to  the  throne  of  England  were 
not  only  unquestionable,  but  proverbial  throughout 
the  country ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  regarded  no 
clergyman,  of  his  own,  or  any  other  creed,  as  a  man 
whose  intimacy  was  worth  preserving,  unless  he  was 
able  to  take  off  his  three  or  four  bottles  of  claret  after 
dinner.  In  fact,  not  to  keep  our  readers  longer  in 
suspense,  the  relation  which  he  and  his  companion  bore 
to  each  other  was  that  of  master  and  servant. 

The  hour  was  now  a  little  past  twilight,  and  the 
western  sky  presented  an  unusual,  if  not  an  ominous 
appearance.  A  sharp  and  melancholy  breeze  was 
abroad j  and  the  sun,  w^hich  had  set  among  a  mass  of  red 
clouds,  half  placid,  and  half  angry  in  appearance,  had 
for  some  brief  space  gone  down.  Over  from  the  north, 
however,  glided  by  imperceptible  degrees  a  long  black 
bar,  right  across  the  place  of  his  disappearance,  and 
nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the  wild  and  un- 
natural contrast,  between  the  dying  crimson  of  the  west 
and  this  fearful  mass  of  impenetrable  darkness  that 
came  over  it.  As  yet  there  was  no  moon,  and  the  por- 
tion of  light,  or  rather,  ''  darkness  visible,"  that  feebly 
appeared  on  the  sk)"  and  the  landscape,  was  singularly 
sombre  and  impressive,  if  not  actually  appalling.  The 
scene  about  them  was  wild  and  desolate  in  the  extreme ; 
and  as  the  faint  outlines  of  the  bleak  and  barren  moors 
appeared  m  the  dim  and  melancholy  distance,  thefeel- 
.ings  they  inspired  were  those  of  discomfort  and  depres- 
sion. On  each  side  of  them  were  a  variety  of  lonely 
lakes,  abrupt  precipices,  and  extensive  marshes ;  and  as 


14  WILLY    REILLY. 

our  travellers  went  along,  the  hum  of  the  snipe,  the 
feeble  but  mournful  cry  of  the  plover,  and  the  wilder 
and  more  piercing  whistle  of  the  curlew  still  deepened 
the  melauclioly  dreariness  of  their  situation,  and  added 
to  their  anxiety  to  press  on  towards  the  place  of  their 
destination. 

"  This  is  a  very  lonely  spot,  your  honor,"  said  his  serv- 
ant, whose  name  was  Andrew,  or,  as  he  was  more  fa- 
miliarly called,  Andy  Cummiskey. 

''Yes,  but  it's  the  safer,  Andy,"  replied  his  master. 
*'  There  is  not  a  human  habitation  within  miles  of 
us." 

''It  doesn't  follow,  sir,  that  this  place,  above  oil 
others  in  the  neighborhood,  is  not,  especially  at  this 
hour,  without  some  persons  about  it.  You  know  /'m 
no  coward,  sir." 

''What,  you  scoundrel,  and  do  you  mean  to  hint 
that  I'm  one?" 

"Not  at  all,  sir;  but  you  see  the  truth  is,  that  this 
being  the  very  hour  for  duck  and  Avild-fowl  shootin',  it's 
hard  to  say  where  or  when  a  fellow  might  start  up,  and 
mistake  me  for  a  wild  duck,  and  your  honor  for  a  cur- 
lew or  a  bittern." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  the  breeze  started,  as 
it  were,  into  more  vigorous  life,  and  ere  the  space  of 
many  minutes  a  dark,  impenetrable  mist  or  fog  was 
borne  over  from  the  solitary  hills,  across  the  dreary 
level  of  country  through  which  they  passed,  and  they 
felt  themselves  suddenly  chilled,  whilst  a  darkness  al- 
most palpable  nearly  concealed  them  from  each  other. 
Now,  the  roads  which  we  have  described,  being  almost 
without  exception  in  remote  and  unfrequented  parts  of 
the  country,  are  few  the  most  part  covered  over  with  a 
thick  sole  of  close  grass,  unless  where  a  narrow  strip  in 
the  centre  shows  that  a  pathway  is  kept  worn  and  dis- 
tinctly marked  by  the  tread  of  foot  passengers.  Under 
all    these   circumstances,    tlu^ii,  our  readers  need  not 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  15 

feel  surprised  tliat,  owing  at  once  to  the  impenetrable 
obscurity  around  them,  and  the  noiseless  nature  ol  the 
antique  and  grass-covered  pavement  over  which  tlie}' 
went,  scarcely  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards  had  been 
gained  when  they  found,  to  their  dismay,  that  they  liad 
lost  their  path,  and  w^ere  in  one  of  the  wild  and  heath} 
stretches  of  unbounded  moor  by  which  they  were  sur- 
rounded. 

^'  We  have  lost  our  way,  Andrew,"  observed  his  mas- 
ter. "  We've  got  off  that  damned  old  path  ;  what's  to 
be  done  1     Where  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  here,  sir,"  replied  his  man  ;  ^'  but  as  for  what's 
to  be  done,  it  would  take  Mave  Mullin,  that  sees  the 
fairies  and  tells  fortunes,  to  tell  us  that.  For  heaven's 
sake,  stay  where  you  are,  sir,  till  I  get  up  to  you,  for  if 
we  part  from  one  another  we're  both  lost.  Where  are 
you,  sir  1 " 

"  D — n  you,  sirrah,"  replied  his  master,  angrily,  ^^  is 
this  either  a  time  or  place  to  jest  in?  A  man  that 
would  make  a  jest  in  such  a  situation  as  this  would 
dance  on  his  father's  tombstone." 

^^  By  my  soul,  sir,  and  I'd  give  a  five-pound  note,  if 
I  had  it,  that  you  and  I  were  dancing  '  Jig  Polthogue ' 
on  it  this  minute.  But  in  the  mane  time,  the  divil  a  one 
o'  me  sees  the  joke  your  honor  spakes  of." 

'^  Why,  then,  do  you  ask  me  where  I  am,  wlien  3'ou 
know  I'm  astray,  that  we're  both  astray,  you  snivelling 
old  whelp  ?  By  the  great  and  good  King  William,  I'll 
be  lost,  Andrew  !  " 

"  Well,  and  even  if  you  are,  sir,"  replied  Andrew, 
who,  guided  by  his  voice,  had  now  approaclied  and 
joined  him — "  even  if  you  are,  sir,  I  trust  you'll  bear  it 
like  a  Christian  and  a  Trojan." 

**  Get  out,  you  old  sniveller, — what  do  vou  mean  by 
a  Tj-ojan  ?  " 

"  A  Trojan,  sir,  I  was  tould,  is  a  man  that  lives  by 
sellin'  wild  fowl.     They  take  an  oath,  sir,  before  they 


16  WfJ.LY    KEILLY 

begin  the  trade,   nevoi'  to  die  until  they  can't  help  it." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  or  to  hint,  at  least,  that  in  addi- 
tio  1  to  our  other  dangers,  we  run  the  risk  of  coming  in 
contact  Avith  poachers?" 

''  Wei],  then,  sir,  if  I  don't  mistake,  they're  out  to- 
ni^'lit.  However,  don't  let  us  alarm  one  another.  God 
forbid  that  I'd  sny  a  single  word  to  friohten  you  ;  but 
still,  you  know  yourself  that  there's  many  a  man  not  a 
hundred  miles  from  us  that  'ud  be  glad  to  mistake  you 
for  a  target,  a  mallard,  or  any  other  A^ild  fowl  of  that 
description.". 

""  In  the  mean  time,  we  are  both  well  armed,"  replied 
his  master  ;  ''  but  what  I  fear  most  is  the  risk  we  run 
of  falling  down  precipices,  or  walking  into  lakes  or  quag- 
mires. What  is  to  be  done  I  This  fog  is  so  cursedly 
cold  that  it  has  chilled  my  very  blood  into  ice." 

''  Our  best  plan,  sir,  is  to  dismount,  and  keep  ourselves 
W' arm  by  taking  a  pleasant  stroll  across  the  country. 
The  horses  will  take  care  of  themselves.  In  the  mane 
time,  keeping  up  your  spirits — we'll  both  want  something 
to  console  us;  but  this  1  can  tell  you,  that  devil  a  bit  of 
tombstone  ever  will  go  over  either  of  us,  barrin'  the  sky 
in  heaven  :  and  for  our  coffins,  let  us  pray  to  the  coffin- 
maker,  because  you  see  it's  the  maddJiu  ruaJi^  (the  foxes), 
and  ravens,  and  other  civilized  animals  that  will  coffin 
us  both  by  instalments  in  their  hungry  guts,  until  our 
bones  will  be  beautiful  to  look  at — afther  about  six 
months'  bleaching,  and  a  sharp  eye  'twould  be  that  'ud 
know  the  difference  between  masther  and  man  then,  I 
think." 

We  omitted  to  say  that  a  piercing  nnd  most  severe 
hoar-frost  had  set  in  with  the  fog,  and  that  Cunnnis- 
key's  master  felt  the  immediate  necessity  of  dismount- 
ing and  walking  about,  in  order  to  preserve  some  de- 
gree of  animal  heat  in  his  body. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,    Andrew,"  said  he,    ^'  and  these 

*  Maddhu  riuUi,  or  red  dog,  tbe  Irish  name  for  fox. 


WILLY    RKILLY.  17 

two  gallant  nnlmals  will  never  recover  it  after  the 
severe  day's  hunting  they've  had.  Poor  Fiddler  and 
Piper,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  has  proved  a  melancholy- 
day  to  you  both.  What  is  to  be  done,  Andrew  'f  I  am 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  and  feel  as  if  my  strength  had 
utterly  left  me." 

^'  What,  sir,"  replied  his  servant,  who  certainly  loved 
his  master,  "  is  it  so  bad  with  you  as  all  that  comes  to  ? 
Sure  I  only  thought  to  amuse  you,  sir.  Come,  take  cour- 
age :  I'll  whistle,  and  maybe  somebody  will  come  to 
our  relief." 

He  accordingly  put  his  two  fingers  into  his  mouth, 
and  uttered  a  loud  and  piercing  vvliistle,  after  which 
both  stood  still  for  a  time,  but  no  reply  was  given., 

"  Stop,  sir,"  proceeded  Andrew ;  I'll  give  them  an- 
other touch  that'll  make  them  spake,  if  there's  any  one 
near  enough  to  hear  us." 

He  once  more  repeated  the  whistle,  but  with  two  or 
three  peculiar  shakes  or  variations,  when  almost  instant- 
ly one  of  a  similar  character  was  given  in  reply. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  ''be  they  friends  or 
foes,  we  have  human  creatures  not  far  from  us.  Take 
courage,  sir.     How  do  you  feel  I  " 

"  Frozen  and  chilled  almost  to  death,"  replied  his 
master ;  "  I'll  give  fifty  pounds  to  any  man  or  party  of 
men  that  will  conduct  us  safely  home." 

"  I  hope  in  the  Almighty,"  said  Andrew  to  himself, 
in  an  anxious  and  apprehensive  tone  of  voice,  ''  that 
it's  not  Parra  Riiali  (Red  Patrick),  the  Red  Rapparee, 
that's  in  it,  and  I'm  afeerd  it  is,  for  I  think  I  know  his 
•whistle.  There's  not  a  man  in  the  three  baronies  could 
give  such  a  whistle  as  that,  barring  himself.  If  it  is, 
the  masther's  a  gone  man,  and  I'll  not  be  left  behind  to 
tell  his  story.     God  protect  us  !  " 

''  What  are  you  saying,  Andrew  !  "  asked  liis  master. 
''  What  were  3^ou  muttering  just  now  !  " 

''Nothing,  sir,  nothing,  but  there  can  be  no  harm,  at 


18  WILLY    REILLY. 

all    events,  to  look  to  our  pistols.     If  there  should  be 
danger,  let  us  sell  our  lives  like  men." 

*^  And  so  we  will,  Andrew.  The  country,  I  know, 
is  in  a  disturbed  and  lawless  state,  and  ever  since  that 
unfortunate  a£Pair  of  the  priest,  I  know  I  am  not  popu- 
lar with  a  great  many.  I  hope  we  won't  come  across 
his  Rapparee  nephew." 

^^  Whether  we  do  or  not,  sir,  let  us  look  to  our  fire- 
arms. Show  me  yours  till  I  settle  the  powdher  in  theiu 
Why,  God  bless  me,  how  you  are  tremblin' !  " 

*^  It  is  not  from  fear,  sir,"  replied  the  intrepid  old 
man,  ''  but  from  cold.  If  anything  should  happen  me, 
Andrew,  let  my  daughter  know  that  my  will  is  in  the 
oaken  cabinet ;  that  is  to  say,  the  last  I  made.  She  is 
my  heiress — but  that  she  is  by  the  laws  of  the  land, 
However,  as  I  had  disposed  of  some  personal  property 
to  other  persons,  which  disposition  I  have  revoked  in 
the  will  I  speak  of — my  last,  as  I  said — I  wish  you  to 
let  her  know  where  she  may  find  it.  Her  mother's 
jewels  are  also  in  the  same  place — but  they,  too,  are  hers 
by  right  of  law — her  mother  bequeathed  them  to  her." 

''  Ah,  sir,  you  are  right  to  remember  and  think  well  of 
that  daughter.  She  has  been  a  guardian  angel  to  you 
these  five  years.  But  why,  sir,  do  you  give  me  this 
message  ?  Do  you  think  I  won't  sell  my  hfe  in  defence 
of  yours  ?     If  you  do,  you're  mistaken." 

"  I  believe  it,  Andrew,  I  believe  it,  Andy,"  said  he, 
familiarizing  the  word ;  "•  but  if  this  Red  Rapparee  should 
murder  nie,  I  don't  wish  you  to  sacrifice  your  life  on 
my  account.  Make  your  escape,  if  he  should  be  the 
person  who  is  approaching  us,  andconvey  to  my  daugh- 
ter the  message  I  have  given  yon." 

At  this  moment  another  whistle  proceeded  from  a 
quarter  of  the  moor  much  nearer  them,  and  Andy  hav- 
ing handed  back  tlie  pistols  to  his'  master,  asked  him 
should  he  return  it. 

"Certainly,"  replied   the  other,    who  during  all  this 


WILLY    REILLY.  19 

time  was  pacing  to  and  fro  to  keep  liimself  from  sink- 
ing;'*  certainly,  let  us  see  whether  these  persons  are 
friends  or  enemies." 

His  servant  then  replied  to  the  whistle,  and  in  a  few 
i\iinutes  it  was  answered  again,  whilst  at  the  same  time 
::  stronoT"  but  bitter  wind  arose  which  cleared  awav  the 
mist,  and  showed  them  with  considerable  distinctness 
the  position  which  they  occupied. 

Within  about  ten  yards  of  them,  to  the  left,  the  very 
direction  in  which  they  had  been  proceeding,  was  a 
small,  deep  lake,  or  tarn,  utterly  shoreless,  and  into 
which  they  unquestionably  would  have  walked  and 
perished,  as  neither  of  them  knew  how  to  swim.  The 
clearing  away  of  the  mist,  and  the  light  of  the  stars  (for 
the  moon  had  not  yet  risen),  enabled  the  parties  to  see 
each  other,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Andrew  and  his  mas- 
ter were  joined  by  four  men,  the  principal  person  among 
them  being  the  identical  individual  whom  they  both 
had  dreaded — the  Eed  Rapparee. 

''  Master,"  said  Cummiskey,  in  a  whisper,  on  seeing 
them  approach,  '^  we  must  fight  for  it,  I'm  afeered,  but 
let  us  not  be  rash  ;  there  may  be  a  friend  or  two  among 
them,  and  it  is  betther  to  come  off  peaceably  if  we 
can." 

'^  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  his  master.  ^' There  is 
no  use  in  shedding  unnecessary  blood  ;  but  in  any  event, 
let  us  not  permit  them  to  disarm  us,  should  they  insist 
on  doing  so.  They  know  I  never  go  three  yards  from 
my  hall  door  without  arms,  and  it  is  not  improbable 
they  may  make  a  point  of  taking  them  from  us.  I,  how- 
ever, for  one,  will  not  trust  to  their  promises,  for  I 
know  their  treachery,  as  I  do  their  cowardice,  when 
their  numbers  are  but  few,  and  an  armed  opponent  or 
two  before  them,  determined  to  give  battle.  Stand, 
therefore,  by  me,  Andrew^  and,  by  King  William, 
should  they  have  recourse  to  violence,  we  shall  let  them 
see  and  feel  too  that  we  are  not  unprepared." 


20  WILLY    REILLY. 

"  I  have  but  one  life,  sir,"  replied  his  faithful  fol- 
lower ;  "  it  was  spent — at  least,  its  best  days  were — in 
your  service,  and  sooner  than  any  danger  should  come 
to  3"ou  it  will  be  lost  in  your  defence.  If  it  was  only 
for  the  sake  of  her  that  is  not  here,  the  Cohen  Baivn,  I 
would  do  it." 

"Who  goes  there  I  "  asked  a  deep  and  powerful  voice, 
when  tlie  parties  had  come  within  about  twenty  yards 
of  each  other. 

''  Bv  the  powers ! "  exclaimed  Andrew,  in  a  whisper, 
*'  it's  himself, — the  Red  Rapparee  !  " 

'^  AVe  are  friends,"  he  replied,"  and  have  lost  our  way." 
The  other  party  approached,  and  on  joining  our  trav- 
ellers, the  Rapparee  started,  exclaiming  :  "  What !  noble 
squire,  is  it  possible  that  this  is  you  !  Hut !  it  can't 
be-— let  me  look  at  you  closer,  till  I  make  sure  of  you  " 

''  Keep  your  distance,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man,  witli 
courage  and  dignity  ;  '^  keep  your  distance  ;  you  see 
that  I  and  my  servant  are  both  well  armed,  and  deter- 
mined to  defend  ourselves  against  violence." 

An  ominous  and  ferocious  glance  passed  from  the 
Rapparee  to  his  comrades,  who,  however,  said  noth- 
ing, but  seemed  to  be  resolved  to  guide  themselves 
altogether  by  his  conduct.  The  Red  Rapparee  was 
a  huge  man  of  about  forty,  and  the  epithet  of  Red" 
had  hiddw  given  to  him  in  consequence  of  the  color  of 
his  hair.  In  expression  his  countenance  was  by  no 
means  unliandsome,  being  florid  and  symmetrical,  but 
hard,  and  with  scarcely  any  trace  of  feeling.  His  brows 
were  far  asunder,  arguing  ingenuity  and  invention, 
but  liis  eves,  whicli  were  small  and  treaclierous,  glared 
— whenever  he  became  excited — with  the  ferocity  of 
an  enraged  tiger.  His  shoulders  were  broad,  his  chest 
deep  and  square,  his  arms  lonof  and  powerful,  but  his 
lower  limbs  were  somewliat  light,  in  proportion  to  the 
great  size  of  his  uppei'  figure.  This,  however,  is  gen- 
erally the  case  when  a  man    combines  in  his  own  per- 


WILLY    REILLV.  21 

SOU  the  united  qualities  of  activity  aud  strength. 
Even  at  this  period  we  are  describing,  when  this  once 
celebrated  character  was  forty  years  of  age,  it  was 
well  known  that  in  fleetness  of  foot  there  was  no  man 
in  the  province  able  to  compete  with  him.  In  athletic 
exercises  that  required  strength  and  skill,  he  never 
had  a  rival,  but  one — with  whom  the  reader  will  soon 
be  made  acquainted.  He  was  wrapped  closel}'  in  a 
gray  frieze  big-coat  or  cothamore,  as  it  is  called  in  Irish, 
— wore  a  hat  of  two  colors,  and  so  pliant  in  texture 
that  he  could  at  any  time  turn  it  inside  out.  His  coat 
was — as,  indeed,  were  all  his  clothes — made  upon  the 
same  principle,  so  that  when  hard  pressed  by  the  au- 
thorities, he  could  in  a  minute  or  two  transmute  him- 
self into  the  appearance  of  a  man  very  different  from 
the  individual  described  to  them.  Indeed,  he  was  such 
a  perfect  Proteus,  that  no  vigilance  of  the  Executive 
was  ever  a  match  for  his  versatility  of  appearance, 
swiftness  of  foot,  and  caution.  These  frequent  defeats 
of  the  authorities  of  that  day  made  him  extremely 
popular  with  the  people,  who  were  always  ready  to 
afford  him  shelter'and  means  of  concealment,  in  return 
for  which  he  assisted  them  with  food,  money,  and  the 
spoils  of  his  predatory  life.  This,  indeed,  w^as  the 
sagacious  principle  of  the  Irish  Robbers  and  Rapparees 
from  the  beginning,- — to  rob  from  the  rich  and  give  to  the 
2Wor  being  their  motto. 

The  persons  who  accompanied  him  on  this  occasion 
were  three  of  his  own  gang,  who  usually  constituted 
his  body-guard,  and  acted  as  videttes,  either  for  his 
protection  or  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  him  infor- 
mation of  such  travellers  as,  from  their  known  wealth 
or  external  appearance,  might  be  supposed  worth  at- 
tacking. They  were  well  made,  active  and  athletic 
men,  in  whom  it  would  not  be  easy  to  recognize  any 
particular  character  at  variance  with  that  of  the  peas- 
antry around  him.     It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  they 


22  WILLV    REILLY. 

were  all  armed.  Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  tlie 
identity  of  master  and  man,  with  a  glance  at  his  com- 
panions, the  Rapparee  said : 

^'  What  on  earth  brought  you  and  Andy  Cummiskey 
here,  noble  squire  f  0  you  lost  your  Avay,  Andy  says. 
Well,  now,"  he  proceeded,  "  yoii  know  I  have  been 
many  a  day  and  night  on  the  lookout  for  you ;  aye, 
and  could  have  put  daylight  through  you,  many  and 
many  a  time  ;  and  what  do  you  think  prevented  me." 

^'  Fear  of  God,  or  of  the  gallows,  I  hope,  "  replied 
the  intrepid  old  man. 

*^  Well,"  returned  the  Rapparee,  with  a  smile  of  scorn  : 
^'  I'm  not  a  man — as  I  suppose  you  may  know — that 
ever  feared  either  of  them  much — God  forgive  me  for 
the  one,  I  don't  ask  his  forgiveness  for  the  other.  No, 
Squire  Folliard,  it  was  the  goodness,  the  kindness,  the 
generosity,  and  the  charity  of  the  Coleen  Baivn,  your 
lovely  daughter,  that  held  my  hand.  You  persecuted  my 
old  uncle,  the  priest,  and  you  would  a'  hanged  him  too, 
for  merely  marryin'  a  Protestant  and  a  Catholic  together. 
Well,  sir,  3^our  fair  daughter,  and  her  good  motlier — 
that's  now  in  heaven,  I  hope — went  up  to  Dublin  to  the 
Lord  Lieutenant,  and  before  him  the  Coleen  Bawn  went 
on  her  two  knees  and  begged  my  uncle's  life,  and  got 
it ;  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant  said  that  no  one  could 
deny  her  anything.  Now,  sir,  for  her  sake,  go  home 
in  peace.     Boys  get  their  horses." 

Andy  Cummiskey  would  have  looked  upon  all  this  as 
manly  and  generous  :  but  he  could  not  help  observing 
a  particular  and  rather  sinister  meaning  in  the  look 
which  the  Rapparee  turned  on  his  companions  as  he 
spoke.  He  had  often  heard,  too,  of  his  treacherous  dis- 
position and  liis  unrelenting  cruelty  whenever  he  enter- 
tained a  feeling  of  vengeance.  In  his  present  position, 
however,  all  he  could  do  was  to  stand  on  his  guard; 
and  with  this  impression  strong  upon  him  he  resolved  to 
put  no  confidence  in  the  w^ords  (»f  tlie  Rapparee.     In  a 


WILLY    REILLY.  23 

few  minutes  the  horses  were  brought  up,  and  Paria  Ruah 
having  wiped  Mr.  Folliard's  saddle — for  such  was  his 
name — with  the  skirt  of  his  cothamore,  and  i  emoved  the 
hoar-frost  of  rime  which  had  gathered  on  it,  lie  brouglit 
the  animal  over  to  him,  and  said  with  a  kind  of  rude 
courtesy  : —  "" 

^'  Come,  sir,  trust  me,  I  will  help  you  to  your  saddle." 

"  You  have  not  the  reputation  of  being  trustworthy," 
replied  Mr.  FoUiard ;  ''keep  back,  sir,  at  your  peril;  I 
will  not  trust  3^ou.     My  own  servant  will  assist  me." 

This  seemed  precisely  the  arrangement  which  the 
Rapparee  and  his  men  had  contemplated.  The  squire, 
in  mounting,  was  obliged,  as  every  man  is,  to  use  both 
his  hands,  as  was  his  servant  also,  while  assisting  him. 
They  consequently  put  up  their  pistols  until  they  should 
get  into  the  saddles,  and,  almost  in  an  instant,  found 
themselves  disarmed,  and  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  these 
lawless  and  unscrupulous  men. 

"Now,  Squire  Folliard,"  exclaimed  the  Rapparee, 
"  see  what  it  is  not  to  trust  an  honest  man  :  had  you 
done  so,  not  a  hair  of  your  head  would  be  injured.  As 
it  is,  I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  do  three  things  :  re- 
men)ber  my  uncle,  the  priest,  that  you  transported." 

"  He  acted  most  illegally,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man, 
indignantly;  "and  in  my  opinion,  I  say  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  conduct,  the  country  had  a  good  rid- 
dance of  him.  I  only  wish  I  could  send  you  after  him  ; 
perhaps  I  shall  do  so  yet.  I  believe  in  Providence,  sij-- 
rah,  and  that  God  can  protect  me  from  your  violence 
even  here." 

"  In  the  next  place,"  proceeded  the  Rapparee,  "  think 
of  your  daughter,  that  you  will  never  see  again,  either 
in  this  world  or  in  the  next." 

"  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  having  such  an  angel," 
replied  the  old  man,  "  but  unless  you  were  a  cruel  and  a 
heartless  ruffian,  you  would  not  at  this  moment  mention 
her,  or  bring  the  thoughts  of  her  to  my  recollection." 


24  WILLY    REILLY. 

^' In  the  last  place/'  continued  the  other,  '4f  you 
have  anything  to  say  in  the  shape  of  a  prayer,  say  it, 
for  in  five  minutes  time  there  will  be  a  bullet  through 
your  heart,  and  in  five  more  you  will  be  snug  and 
warm  at  the  bottom  of  the  loch  there  below — that's 
your  doom." 

''O'Donnel,"  said  Andy,  "think  that  there's  a  God 
above  you.  Surely  you  wouldn't  murdher  this  ould 
man  and  make  the  sovvl  within  your  body  redder — if 
the  thing's  possible — than  the  head  that's  on  the  top  of 
it,  though  in  throth  I  don't  think  it's  by  way  of  ornament 
it's  there  either.  Come,  come,  Randal,  my  man,  this  is 
SiW  feast Jialagh  (nonsense).  You  only  want  to  frighten 
the  gentleman.  As  for  your  uncle,  man  alive,  all  I  can 
say  is,  that  he  was  a  friend  to  your  family,  and  to  religion, 
too,  that  sent  him  on  liis  travels." 

"  Take  off  your  gallowses  "  (braces),  said  the  Rappa- 
ree,  "  take  them  off,  a  couple  of  you — for,  by  all  the 
powers  of  darkness,  they'll  both  go  to  the  bottom  of  tlie 
loch  together,  back  to  back.     Down  you'll  go,  Andy." 

"  By  my  sow],  then,"  replied  the  unflinching  servant, 
"  if  ive  go  dow^n  you'll  go  up ;  and  we  have  those  be- 
longin'  to  us  that  will  see  you  kis§  the  hangman  yet. 
Yerra,  now,  above  all  words  in  the  alphabet,  what  could 
put  a  gallows  into  your  mouth  f  Faith,  Randal,  it's 
about  your  neck  it'll  go,  and  ^^ou'll  put  out  your  tongue 
at  the  daicent  people  that  will  attend  your  own  funeral 
yet — that  is  if  you  don't  let  us  off." 

"  Put  them  both  to  their  knees,"  said  the  Rapparee, 
in  a  voice  of  tlmnder,  ''  to  their  knees  with  them.  I'll 
take  the  masther,  and,  Kinerl}^,  do  you  take  the  man." 

The  companions  of  the  Rapparee  could  not  avoid 
laughing  at  the  comic  courage  displayed  by  Cummis- 
key,  and  were  about  to  intercede  for  him,  when 
O'Donnel,  which  was  ln*s  name,  stamped  with  fury  on 
the  ground,  and  asked  them  if  they  dared  to  disobey 
him.     This  sobered   them  at  once;  and  in  less  than  a 


WILLY    RLILLY.  25 

minute  Mr.  Folliard  and  Andy  were  placed  upon  their 
knees,  to  await  the  terrific  sentence  which  was  about  to 
be  executed  on  them,  in  that  wild  and  lonely  moor,  and 
under  such  appalling  circumstances.  When  placed  in 
the  desired  posture,  to  ask  that  mercy  from  God  whicli 
they  were  not  about  to  experience  at  the  hands  of  man, 
Squire  Folliard  spoke  : — 

'^  Red  Rapparee,"  said  he  "it  is  not  that  I  am  afraid 
of  death  as  sucli^  but  I  feel  that  I  am  not  prepared  to  die. 
Suffer  my  servant  and  m^^self  to  go  home  without  harm, 
and  I  shall  engage  not  only  to  get  you  a  pardon  from 
the  government  of  the  country,  but  I  shall  furnish  you 
with  money  either  to  take  you  to  some  useful  calling, 
or  to  emigrate  to  some  foreign  country,  where  nobody 
will  know  of  your  misdeeds,  or  the  life  you  have  led 
here." 

"  Randal,  my  man,"  added  Andy,  "  listen  to  w^hat  the 
gentleman  says,  and  you  may  escape  wdiat  you  know 
yet.  As  for  my  masther,  Randal,  let  him  pass,  and  take 
me  in  his  place.  I  may  as  well  die  now,  maybe,  as  anoth- 
er time.  I  was  an  honest,  faithful  servant  at  all  times. 
I  have  neither  chick  nor  child  to  cry  for  me.  No  wife, 
thank  God,  to  break  my  heart  afther.  My  conscience 
is  light  and  airy,  like  a  beggar's  blanket,  as  they  say  ; 
and,  barrin'  that  I  once  got  drunk  wid  your  uncle  in 
Moll  Flanagan's  sheebeen  house,  I  don't  know  that  I 
have  much  to  trouble  me.  Spare  him^  then,  and  take 
me  if  it  must  come  to  that.  He  has  the  Coleen  Baicn  to 
think  of.  Do  you  think  of  her,  too  ;  and  remember  tliat 
it  was  she  who  saved  your  uncle  from  the  gallows." 

This  unlucky  allusion  only  deepened  the  vengeance 
of  the  Red  Rapparee,  who  looked  to  the  priming  of  his 
gun,  and  was  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  perpetrate  this 
most  inhuman  and  awful  murder,  when  an  interruption 
took  place  for  which  neither  ]);;rty  was  prepared. 

Now  it  so  happened  that,  witliin  aliout  eight  or  ten 
yards  of  where  they  stood,  there  existed  the  walls  and 


26  WILLY    REILLY. 

a  portion  of  the  arched  roof  of  one  of  those  old  ecclesi- 
astical ruins  which  our  antiquarians  denominate  Cyclo- 
pean-\\\Q,  Incus  a  non  lucendo,  because  scarcely  a  dozen 
men  could  kneel  in  them.  Over  this  said  ruin  was  what 
sportsmen  term  ^'a  pass"  for  duck  and  widgeon,  and 
aided  by  the  shelter  of  the  building,  any  persons  who 
stationed  themselves  there  could  certainly  commit  great 
havoc  among  the  wild  fowl  in  question.  The  Red  Rap- 
paree,  then,  had  his  gun  in  his  hand,  and  was  in  the 
very  act  of  adjusting  it  to  his  shoulder,  when  a  power- 
ful young  man  sprang  forward,  and  dashing  it  aside,  ex- 
claimed : — 

'^  What  is  this,  Randal  !  Is  it  a  double  murder  you 
are  about  to  execute,  you  inhuman  ruffian  !  " 

The  Rapparee  glared  at  him,  but  with  a  quailing  and 
subdued,  yet  sullen  and  vindictive  expression. 

'^  Stand  up,  sir,"  proceeded  this  daring  and  animated 
young  man,  addressing  Mr.  Folliard  ;  *'  and  you,  Cum- 
miskey,  get  to  your  legs.  No  person  shall  dare  to  in- 
jure either  of  you  while  I  am  liere.  O'Donnel — stain 
and  disgrace  to  a  noble  name — begone,  3^ou  and  your 
ruffians.  I  know  the  cause  of  your  enmity  against  this 
gentleman ;  and  I  tell  you  now,  that  if  you  were  as 
ready  to  sustain  your  religion  as  you  are  to  disgrace  it 
by  your  conduct,  you  would  not  become  a  curse  to  it 
and  the  country,  nor  give  promise  of  feeding  a  hungry 
gallows  some  day,  as  you  and  your  accomplices  will  do." 

Whilst  the  young  stranger  addressed  these  miscreants 
with  such  energy  and  determination,  Mr.  Folliard,  who, 
as  well  as  his  servant,  had  now  got  to  his  legs,  asked  the 
latter,  in  a  whisper,  who  he  was. 

^'  By  all  that's  happy,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  it's  himself, 
the  onlv  man  living  that  the  Red  Rapparee  is  afraid  of  j 
it's  ^  Willy  Reilly.'" 


WILLY   REILLY,  27 

CHAPTER  11. 

THE  COLEEN  BAWN. 

The  old  man  became  very  little  wiser  by  the  informa- 
tion of  his  servant,  and  said  in  reply,"  I  hope  Andy,  he's 
not  a  Papist ;"  but  checking  the  unworthy  prejudice — 
and  in  him  such  prejudices  were  singularly  strong  in 
words,  although  often  feeble  in  fact — he  added,  '^  It 
matters  not — we  owe  our  lives  to  him — the  deepest  and 
most  important  obligation  that  one  man  can  owe  to  an- 
other. I  am,  however,  scarcely  able  to  stand  ;  I  feel  be- 
numbed and  exhausted,  and  wish  to  get  home  as  soon 
as  possible." 

''  Mr.  R.eilly,"  said  Andy,  "  this  gentleman  is  very 
weak  and  ill ;  and  as  you  have  acted  so  much  like  a 
brave  man  and  a  gentleman,  maybe  you'd  have  no  ob- 
jection to  see  us  safe  home." 

''  It  is  my  intention  to  do  so,"  replied  Reilly.  ''  I 
could  not  for  a  moment  think  of  leaving  either  him  or 
you  to  the  mercy  of  this  treacherous  man,  who  dis- 
honors a  noble  name.  Randal,"  he  proceeded,  ad- 
dressing the  Rapparee,  ^'  mark  my  words  !— if  but  a 
single  hair  of  tliis  gentleman's  head,  or  of  any  one 
belonging  to  him,  is  ever  injured  by  3^ou  or  your  gang, 
I  swear  that  you  and  they  will  swing,  each  of  yon, 
from  as  many  gibbets,  as  soon  as  the  course  of  the  law 
can  reach  you.  You  know  me,  sir,  and  my  influence 
over  those  who  protect  you.  As  for  you,  Fergus,"  he 
added,  addressingone  of  the  Rapparee's  followers,  *'you 
are,  thank  God  !  the  only  one  of  my  blood  who  has 
ever  disgraced  it,  by  leading  sucii  a  lawless  and  guilty 
life.  Be  advised  by  me — leave  tliat  man  of  treachery, 
rapine,  and  murder — abandon  hini,  and  reform  your 
life— and  if  you  are  disposed  to  become  a  good  and  in- 


28  WILLY   REILLY. 

dustrious  member  of  society,  go  to  some  other  country, 
where  the  disgrace  you  have  incurred  in  this  may  not 
follow  you.  Be  advised  by  me,  and  you  shall  not  want 
the  means  of  emigrating.  Now  begone ;  and  think, 
each  of  you,  of  what  I  have  said." 

The  Rapparee  glanced  at  the  noble-looking  young 
fellow,  with  the  vindictive  ferocity  of  an  enraged  bull, 
who  feels  a  disposition  to  injure  you,  but  is  restrained 
by  terror ;  or;  which  is  quite  as  appropriate,  a  coward- 
ly but  vindictive  mastiff,  who  eyes  you  askance,  growls, 
shows  his  teeth,  but  has  not  the  courage  to  attack  you. 

^'  Do  not  looV  at  me  so,  sir,"  said  Reilly  ;  ''  you  know 
I  fear  you  not.  " 

"  But,  in  the  mane  time,"  replied  the  Rapparee, ''  what's 
to  prevent  me  from  putting  a  bullet  into  you  this  mo- 
ment, if  I  wished  to  do  it  ?  " 

*'  There  are  ten  thousand  reasons  against  it,"  returned 
Reilly.  "If  you  did  so,  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours 
you  would  find  yourself  in  Sligo  jail — or,  to  come  near- 
er the  truth,  in  less  than  five  minutes  you  would  find 
yourself  in  hell." 

*'  Well,  now,  suppose  I  should  make  the  trial,"  said 
the  Rapparee.  "  You  don't  know,  Mr.  Reilly,  how  you 
have  crossed  me  to-night.  Suppose  now  1  should 
try — and  suppose,  too,  that  not  one  of  you  three  should 
lave  the  spot  you  stand  on  only  as  corpses— wouldn't 
I  have  the  advantage  of  you  then  ?  " 

Reilly  turned  towards  the  ruined  chapel,  and  simply 
raising  his  right  hand,  about  eight  or  ten  persons  made 
their  appearance;  but,  restrained  by  a  signal  from  him, 
they  did  not  advance. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  he. — ^^  Now,  Randal,  I  hope  you 
understand  your  position.  Do  not  provoke  me  again  ; 
for  if  you  do  I  will  surround  you  with  toils  from  which 
you  could  as  soon  change  your  fierce  and  brutal  nature 
lis  escape.  Yes,  and  I  will  take  you  in  the  midst  of 
your  ruffian  guards,  and  in  the  deepest  of  your  fast- 


WILLY    RKTLLT.  20 

nesses,  if  you  ever  provoke  me  as  you  have  done  ou 
other  occasions,  or  if  you  ever  injure  this  gentleman, 
or  any  individual  of  his  family. — Come,  sir,"  he  proceed- 
ed, addressing  the  old  man,  '*  you  are  now  mounted — 
my  horse  is  in  the  old  ruin — and  in  a  moment  I  shall 
be  ready  to  accompany  you." 

Reilly  and  his  companions  joined  our  travellers,  one 
of  the  former  having  offered  the  old  squii  e  a  large  frieze 
great-coat,  wliich  he  gladly  accepted,  and,  having  thus 
formed  a  guard  of  safety  for  him  and  his  faithful  attend- 
ant, they  regained  the  old  road  we  have  described,  and 
resumed  their  journey. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  Rapparee  and  his  com- 
panions looked  after  them  with  blank  faces  for  some 
minutes. 

"  Well,"  said  their  leader,  "  Reilly  has  knocked  up 
our  gauie  for  this  night.  Only  for  him  I'd  have  had  a 
full  and  sweet  revenge.  However,  never  mind,  it'll  go 
hard  with  me,  or  I'll  have  it  yet.  In  the  mane  time  it 
won't  be  often  that  such  another  opportunity  will  come 
in  our  way." 

''  Well,  now  that  is  over,  what  was  your  intention, 
Randal  ? "  asked  the  person  to  whom  Reilly  had  address- 
ed himself 

"  Why,"  replied  the  miscreant,  "after  the  deed  w^as 
done,  what  was  to  prevent  us  from  robbing  the  house 
to-night,  and  taking  away  his  daughter  to  the  moun- 
tains ?  I  have  long  had  my  eye  on  her,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  it'll  cost  me  a  fall,  or  I'll  have  her  yet," 

"  You  had  better,"  replied  Fergus  Reilly,  for  such 
was  his  name,  "  neither  make  nor  meddle  with  that  fam- 
ily after  this  night.  If  you  do,  that  terrible  relation  of 
mine  will  hang  you  like  a  dog." 

"  How  will  he  hang  me  like  a  dog  !  "  asked  the  Rap- 
paree, knitting  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  turning  upon 
him  a  fierce  and  glooming  look. 

^'  Why  now,  Randal,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,   re- 


30  WILLY    REILLY. 

plied  the  other,  "  that  if  he  only  raised  his  finger 
against  you  in  the  country,  the  very  people  that  harbor 
both  you  and  us  would  betray  us,  ay,  seize  us  and  bind 
us  hand  and  foot,  like  common  thieves,  and  give  us 
over  to  the  authorities.  But  as  for  himself,  I  believe 
you  have  sense  enough  to  let  him  alone.  When  you 
took  away  Mary  Traynor  and  nearly  kilt  her  brother, 
the  young  priest — you  know  they  were  Reilly's  ten- 
ants— I  needn't  tell  you  what  happened  :  in  four  hours' 
time  he  had  the  country  up,  followed  you  and  your 
party — I  wasn't  with  you  then,  but  you  know  it's  truth 
I'm  spakin' — and  when  he  had  five  to  one  against  you, 
didn't  he  make  them  stand  aside  until  he  and  you  should 
decide  it  between  you  I  Ay,  and  you  know  he  could  'a' 
brought  home  every  man  of  you  tied  neck  and  heels, 
and  would,  too,  only  that  there  was  a  large  reward  of- 
fered for  the  takin'  of  you,  livin'  or  dead,  and  he 
scorned  to  have  any  hand  in  it  on  that  account." 

''  It  was  by  a  chance  blow  he  hit  me,"  said  the  Rap- 
paree — '^  by  a  chance  blow." 

"  By  a  couple  dozen  chance  blows,"  replied  the  other; 
^*  you  know  he  knocked  you  down  as  fast  as  ever  you 
got  up — I  lave  it  to  the  boys  liere  that  wor  present." 

*'  There's  no  use  in  den3nn'  it,  Randal,"  they  replied, 
"  you  hadn't  a  chance  wid  him." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  observed  the  Rapparee,  "  if  he 
did  beat  me,  he's  the  only  man  able  to  do  it ;  but  it's 
not  over,  curse  him — I'll  have  another  trial  with  him 

''If  you  take  my  advice,"  replied  Reilly,  "you'll 
neither  make  nor  meddle  with  him.  He's  the  head 
o'  the  Catholics,  and  you  know  that;  ay,  and  lie's 
their  friend,  and  uses  the  friendship  that  the  Protestants 
have  towards  him  for  tlieir  advantage,  wherever  he  can. 
The  man  that  would  iujure  Willy  Reilly  is  an  enemy 
to  our  religion,  as  well  as  to  every  thing  that's  good  and 
generous ;    and,   mark   me,   Randal,  if  ever  you  cross 


WILLY    REILLY.  31 

him  in  what  he  warned  you  against  this  very  night,  I'll 
hang  you  myself,  if  there  wasn't  another  livin'  man  to  do 
it,  and  to  the  back  o'  that  again,  I  say  you  must  shed 
no  blood  so  long  as  I'm  wid  you." 

"  That  won't  be  long,  then,"  replied  the  Rapparee, 
pulling  out  a  purse  ;  ''  there's  twenty  guineas  for  you, 
and  go  about  your  business  ;  but  take  care,  no  treach- 
eiy." 

^'  No,  "replied  the  other;  "  I'll  have  none  of  your 
money  ;  there's  blood  on  it.  God  forgive  me  for  ever 
joinin'  you.  When  I  want  money  I  can  get  it ;  as  for 
treachery,  there's  none  of  it  in  my  veins  ;  good  night, 
and  remember  my  words." 

Having  thus  spoken,  he  took  his  way  along  the  same 
road  by  which  the  old  squire  and  his  party  went. 

''That  fellow  will  betray  us,"  said  the  Eapparee. 

"  No,"  replied  his  companions,  firmly,  ''  there  never 
was  treacher}^  in  his  part  of  the  family.  We  wish  you 
were  as  sure  of  every  man  you  have  as  you  may  be  of 
him." 

''AVell  now,"  observed  their  leader,  ''a  thought 
strikes  me  ;  this  ould  squire  will  be  half  dead  all  night. 
At  any  rate,  he'll  sleep  like  a  top.  Wouldn't  it  be  a 
good  opportunity  to  attack  the  house — aise  him  of  his 
money,  for  he's  as  rich  as  a  Jew — and  take  away  the 
Coleen  Baivn  ?  We'll  call  at  Shane  Bearna's  stables  on 
our  way,  and  bring  the  other  boys  along  wid  us.  What 
do  you  say  V  ^ 

'' Whv,  that  you'll  hang  yourself,  and  every  man  of 
ns." 

''  Nonsense,  you  cowardly  dogs,"  replied  their  lead- 
er, indignantly  ;   "  can't  we  lave  the  country  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you're    bent  on    it,    replied  his    followers, 

^'  we  won't   l3e  vour  hinderance." 

./ 

♦Shane  Bearna  was  a  celebrated  Rapparee,  who,  amon^  his  other  exploits,  figured  princi- 
pally as  a  horse  stealer.  He  kept  the  stolen  animals  concealed  in  remote  mountain  caves, 
where  he  trimmed  and  dyed  them  in  such  a  way  that  made  it  impossible  to  recognize  them. 
These  caves  are  curiosities  at  the  present  day,  and  are  now  known  as  Shane  Bcarmt''s  Sta- 
bles. 


32  WILLY    REILLY. 

^' We  can  break  up,  and  be  off  to  America,"  he  add- 
ed. 

"  But  what  will  you  do  with  the  Colecn  Bawn,  if  you 
take  her  f  " 

"  Why,  lave  her  behind  us,  after  showin'  the  purty 
creature  the  inside  of  Shane  Bearna's  stables.  She'll 
be  able  to  find  her  way  back  to  her  father's,  never  fear. 
Come,  boys,  now  or  never.  To  say  the  truth,  the 
sooner  we  get  out  of  the  country,  at  all  events,  the 
better." 

The  Rapparee  and  his  men  had  moved  up  to  the 
door  of  the  old  Chapel  already  alluded  to,  whilst  this 
conversation  went  on  ;  and  now  that  their  dreadful  pro- 
ject had  been  determined  on,  they  took  a  short  cut 
across  tlie  moors,  in  order  to  procure  additional  assist- 
ance for  its  accomplishment. 

No  sooner  had  they  gone,  however,  that  an  individ- 
ual, who  had  been  concealed  in  the  darkness  Avithin, 
came  stealthily  to  the  door,  and,  peeping  cautiously  out, 
at  length  advanced  a  few  steps  and  looked  timidly 
about  him.  Perceiving  that  the  coast  was  clear,  he 
placed  himself  under  the  shadow  of  the  old  walls — for 
there  was  now  sufficient  light  to  cast  a  shadow  from 
any  prominent  object ;  and  from  thence  having  ob- 
served the  direction  which  the  Rapparee  and  his  men 
took,  witliout  any  risk  of  being  seen  himself,  he  appeared 
satisfied.  The  name  of  this  individual — who,  althougli 
shrewd  and  cunning  in  many  things,  was  nevertheless 
deficient  in  reason — or  rather  the  name  by  which  he 
generally  went,  was  Tom  Steeple,  a  sohriquet  given  to 
him  on  account  of  a  predominant  idea  which  charac- 
terized and  influenced  his  wliole  conversation.  The 
great  delight  of  this  poor  creature  was  to  be  considered 
the  tallest  individual  in  the  kingdom,  and  indeed  no- 
thins:  could  be  more  amusinof- than'to  witness  tlie  man- 
ner  in  which  he  held  up  his  head  wliile  he  walked  or 
sat  or  stood.     In  fiict,   his  walk  was  a  complete  strut, 


WILLY   REILLY.  S3 

to  which  tlie  pride  arising  from  consciousness  of,  or 
rather  the  rehef  in,  liis  extraordinary  li eight  gave  an 
extremely  ludicrous  appearance.  Poor  Tom  was  about 
five  feet  nine  in  height,  but  imagined  himself  to  be  at 
least  a  foot  higher  His  Avhole  family  were  certainly 
tall,  and  one  of  the  greatest  calamities  of  the  poor  fel- 
low's life  was  the  bitter  reflection,  that  he  himself  was 
by  several  inches  the  lowest  of  his  race.  This  was  the 
only  exception  he  made  with  respect  to  height,  but  so 
deeply  did  it  effect  him  that  he  could  scarcely  ever  al- 
lude to  it  without  shedding  tears.  The  life  he  led  was 
similar  in  most  respects  to  that  of  his  unhappy  class. 
He  wandered  about  through  the  country,  stopping  now 
at  one  farmer's  house,  and  now  at  another's,  where  he 
always  experienced  a  kind  reception,  because  he  was 
not  only  amusing  and  "inoffensive,  but  capable  of  mak- 
ing himself  useful  as  a  messenger  and  drudge.  He 
was  never  sruiltv  of  a  dishonest  act,  nor  ever  known 
to  commit  a  breach  of  trust ;  and  as  a  quick  messen- 
ger, extraordinary  speed  of  foot  rendered  him  unri- 
valled. His  great  delight,  however,  was  to  attend 
sportsmen,  to  whom  he  was  invaluable  as  a  guide  and 
director.  Such  was  his  wind  and  speed  of  foot,  that, 
aided  by  his  knowledge  of  what  is  termed  the  lie  of  the 
country,  he  was  able  to  keep  up  with  any  pack  of 
hounds  that  ever  went  out.  As  a  soho  man  he  was  un- 
rivalled. The  form  of  every  hare  for  miles  about  was 
known  to  him,  and  if  a  fox  or  a  covey  of  partridges  were 
to  be  found  at  all,  he  was  your  man.  In  wild-fowl 
shooting  he  was  infallible.  No  pass  of  duck,  widgeon, 
barnacle,  or  curlew  was  unknown  to  him.  In  fact,  his 
principal  delight  was  to  attend  the  gentry  of  the  coun- 
try to  the  field,  either  with  harrier,  foxhound  or  setter. 
No  coursing  match  went  right  if  Tom  were  not  present ; 
and  as  for  night-shooting,  his  eye  and  ear  were  such  as, 
for  accuracy  of  observation,  few  have  ever  witnessed. 
It  is  true  he  could  subsist  along  time  without  food,  but, 


WILLY    RE  ILLY. 


like  the  renowned  Captain  Dalgetty,  when  an  abun- 
dance of  it  happened  to  be  placed  before  him,  he  dis- 
played the  most  indefensible  ignorance  as  to  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  period  when  he  ought  to  stop  ;  considering^ 
it  his  bounden  duty  on  all  occasions  to  clear  off  what- 
ever was  set  before  him — a  feat  which  he  always  ac- 
complished with  the  most  signal  success. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  Tom,  ''  dat  Red  Rapparee  is  tall 
man,  but  not  tall  as  Tom  ;  him  no  steeple  like  Tom  ;  but 
him  rogue  and  murderer,  and  Tom  honest :  him  won't 
carry  off  Coleen  Bawn  dough,  nor  rob  her  fader  ayder. 
Come,  Tom,  Steeple  Tom,  out  wid  yer  two  legs,  one 
afore  toder,  and  put  Rapparee's  nose  out  o'  joint.  Co- 
hen Bawn,  dat's  good  to  ever3^body,  Catlicks  (Catho- 
lics) an'  all,  an'  often  ordered  Tom  a  bully  dinner. 
Hicko  !  hicko  !  be  the  bones  of  Peter  White,  off  I  go." 

Tom,  like  many  other  individuals  of  his  description, 
was  never  able  to  get  over  the  language  of  childhood, 
— a  characteristic  which  is  often  appended  to  the  want 
of  reason,  and  from  which,  we  presume,  the  term  ''In- 
nocent "  has  been  applied  in  an  especial  manner  to 
those  who  are  remarkable  for  the  same  defect. 

Having  uttered  the  words  we  have  just  recited,  he 
started  off  at  a  gait  peculiar  to  fools,  which  is  known  by 
the  name  of  ''  a  sling  trot,"  and  after  getting  out  upon 
the  old  road  he  turned  himself  in  the  direction  which 
Willy  Reilly  and  his  party  had  taken,  and  there  we 
beg  to  leave  him  for  the  present. 

The  old  squire  felt  his  animal  heat  much  revived  by 
the  warmth  of  the  frieze  coat,  and  his  spirits,  now  that 
the  dreadful  scene  into  which  he  had  been  so  unexpect- 
edly cast  had  passed  away  Avithout  danger,  began  to 
rise  so  exuberantly  that  his  conversation  became  quite 
loquacious  and  mirthful,  if  not  actually,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, incoherent. 

''Sir,"  said  he,  "you  must  come  home  with  me — 
d — n  me,  but  you  must,  and  you  needn't  say  nay  now, 


WILLY    REILLY.  35 

for  I  shall  neither  take  excuse  nor  apology.     I  am  a  hos- 
pitable man,  Mr. -what's  this  your  name  is!" 

"My  name,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "is  Reilly — 
William  Reilly,  or  as  I  am  more  generally  called,  Willy 
Reilly.  The  name,  sir,  though  an  honorable  one,  is, 
in  this  instance,  that  of  an  humble  man,  but  one  who,  I 
trust,  will  never  disgi'ace  it." 

"  You  must  come  home  with  me,  Mr.  Reilly.  Not  a 
word  now." 

"  Such  is  my  intention,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  "  I  shall 
not  leave  you  until  I  see  that  all  risk  of  danger  is  past; 
until  I  place  you  under  your  own  roof" 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  the  old  squire,  "  I  believe  a 
Papist  can  be  a  gentleman — ^a  brave  man — a  man  of 
honor,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  there  is  an^'^tliing  in  his  relig- 
ion to  make  him  either  dishonorable  or  cowardly,  sir," 
replied  Reilly^  with  a  smile. 

"  No  matter,"  continued  the  other,  who  found  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty  in  restraining  his  prejudices  on  that 
point,  "  no  matter,  sir,  no  matter,  Mr. — a — a — 0  3^es, 
Reilly— we  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  religion, — 
away  with  it, — -confound  religion,  sir,  if  it  prevents  one 
man  from  being  thankful,  and  grateful  too,  to  another, 
when  that  other  has  saved  his  life.  What's  your  state 
and  condition  in  society,  M. '?  D — n  the  scoun- 
drel! he'd  have  shot  me.  We  must  hang  that  fellow — 
the  Red  Rapparee  they  call  him — a  dreadful  scourge  to 
the  country  ;  and,  another  thing,  Mr. — Mr.  Mahan — 
you  must  come  to  my  daughter's  wedding.  Not  a 
word  now — by  the  great  Boyne,  you  mustn't.  Have 
you  ever  seen  my  daughter,  sir  I " 

^'  I  have  never  had  that  pleasure,"  replied  Reilly, 
''but  I  have  heard  enough  of  her  wonderful  goodness 
and  beauty." 

'''  Well,  sir,  I  tell  you  to  your  teeth  I  deny  your 
words — you  have  stated  a  falsehood,  sir — a  lie,  sir."     * 


36  WILLY    REILLY. 

''  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  ?  "  replied  Reilly,  some- 
what indignantly.  ^'  I  am  not  in  the  liabit  of  stating 
a  falsehood,  nor  of  submitting  tamely  to  such  an  im- 
putation." 

^'  Ha,  ha,  ha,  I  say  it's  a  lie  still,  my  friend.  What 
did  you  say  I  Why  that  you  had  heard  enough  of  lier 
goodness  and  beauty.  Now,  sir,  by  the  banks  of  the 
Boyne,  I  say  you  didn't  hear  half  enough  of  either  one 
or  t'  other.  Sir,  you  should  know  her,  for  although 
you  are  a  Papist,  you're  a  brave  man  and  a  gentleman. 

Still,  sir,  a  Papist  is  not d — -n  it,  this  isn't  handsome 

of  me,  Willy.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Confound  all  reli- 
gions, if  it  goes  to  that.  Still  at  the  same  time,  I'm 
bound  to  say  as  a  loyal  man,  that  Protestantism  is  my 
fortey  Mr.  Reilly — there's  where  I'm  strong ;  a  touch  of 
Hercules  about  me  there,  Mr.  Reilly — Willy,  I  mean. 
Well  you  are  ad — d  good  fellow.  Papist  and  all  though 
you — ahem  ! — never  mind,  though,  you  shall  see  my 
daughter  ;  you  shall  hear  my  daughter ;  you  shall  feel 
my  daughter  ;  for  by  the  great  Boyne,  she  must  salute 
the  man  that  saved  her  father's  life,  and  prevented  her 
from  being  an  orphan.  And  yet  see,  Willy,  I  love  that 
girl  to  such  a  degree  that  if  heaven  was  open  for  me 
this  moment,  and  that  Saint  Peter, — hem  ! — I  mean  the 
Apostle  Peter,  said  to  me,  '  Come,  Folliard,  walk  in, 
sir,'  by  the  great  Deliverer  that  saved  us  from  Pope  and 
Popery,  brass  money,  and — ahem  !  I  beg  your  pardon 
— well,  I  say  if  he  was  to  say  so,  I  wouldn't  leave  her. 
There's  affection  for  you ;  but  she  deserves  it.  No,  if 
ever  a  girl  was  capable  of  keeping  an  old  father  from 
heaven  she  is." 

^'  I  understand  your  meaning,  sir,"  replied  Reilly, 
with  a  smile,  *^  and  I  believe  she  is  loved  by  every  one 
who  has  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her — by  rich  and 
poor." 

"Troth,  Mr.  Reilly,"  observed  Andy,  "it's  a  sin  for 
any  one  to  let  their  affections,  even  for  one  of  their 


WILLY    REILLY.  37 

own  childer,  go  between  them  and  lieaven.  As  for  the 
mastlier,  he  makes  a  god  of  her.  To  be  sure,  if  ever 
there  was  an  angel  in  this  world  she  is  one." 

''Get   out,  you  old  whelp,"  exclaimed  his  master; 
''what  do  you  know  about  it! — you  who  never  had 
wife  or  child  *?     Isn't  she  my  only  child  ? — the  apple  of 
my  eye  f  the  love  of  my  heart  f  " 

"  If  you  loved  her  so  well  you  tvouldn't  make  her 
unhappy,  then." 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  despicable  old  Papist?" 

"  I  mean  that  you  wouldn't  marry  her  to  a  man  she 
doesn't  like,  as  you're  goin'  to  do.  That's  a  bad  way 
to  make  her  happy,  at  any  rate." 

"  Overlook  the  word  Papist^  Mr,  Reilly,  that  I  ap- 
plied to  that  old  idolater- — the  fellow  worships  images; 
of  course  you  know,  as  a  Papist,  he  does — ahem  ! — 
but  to  show  you  that  I  don't  hate  the  Papist  without  ex- 
ception, I  beg  to  let  yon  know,  sir,  that  I  frequently 
have  the  Papist  priest  of  our  parish  to  dine  with  me  ; 
and  if  that  isn't  liberality  the  devil's  in  it.  Isn^t  that 
true,  you  superstitious  old  Padareen  f  No,  Mr. 
Reilly,  Mr.  Mahan — Willy,  I  mean — I'm  a  liberal  man, 
and  I  hope  we'll  be  all  saved  yet,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Pope — ahem  ! — yes,  I  hope  we  shall  all  be 
saved." 

"  Troth,  sir,"  said  Andy,  addressing  himself  to  Reilly, 
"he'saquare  gentleman,  this.  He's  always  abusing 
the  Papists,  as  he  calls  us,  and  yet  the  devil  a  servant 
undher  his  roof  hut  a  Papist.  His  bark,  sir,  is  worse 
than  his  bite,  any  day." 

"  I  believe  it,  "  replied  Reilly,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and 
it's  a  pity  that  a  good  and  benevolent  man  should  suf- 
fer these  idle  prejudices  to  sway  him." 

"Devil  a  bit  they   sway  him,  sir,"  replied  Andy; 

'^  he'll  damn  and  abuse  tliem  and  their  religion,  and  yet 

he'll  go  any  length  to  serve  one  o'  them,  if  they  want  a 

friend  and  has  a  good  character.     But  here,  now  we're 


38  ^,        WILLY    REILLY. 

at  the   gate  of  the   avenue,  and    you'll  soon  see   the 
Goleen  BawnP 

"  Hallo  !  "  the  squire  shouted  out,  ''  what  the  devil ! 
are  you  dead  or  asleep  there  I  Brady,  you  Papist 
scoundrel,  why  not  open  the  gate  ?  " 

The  porter's  wife  came  out  as  he  uttered  the  words, 
saying,  "■  I  beg  your  honor's  pardon.  Ned  is  ud  at  the 
castle ; "  and  whilst  speaking  she  opened  the  gate. 

"Ha,  Molly!"  exclaimed  her  master,  in  a  tone  of 
such  bland  good-nature  as  could  not  for  a  moment  be 
mistaken;  "well,  Molly,  how  is  little  Mick?  Is  he 
better,  poor  fellow  %  " 

"  He  is,  thank  God,  and  your  honor." 

"Hallo,  Molly," said  the  squire,  laughing,  "  that's 
Popery  again.  You  are  thanking  God  and  me  as  if  we 
were  intimate  acquaintances.  None  of  that  foolish 
Popish  nonsense.  When  you  thank  God,  thank  Him  ; 
and  when  you  thank  me,  why  thank  me ;  but  don't 
unite  us,  as  you  do  Him  and  your  Popish  saints,  for  I 
tell  you,  Molly,  I'm  no  saint ;  God  forbid  !  Tell  the 
doctorman  to  pay  him  every  attention,  and  to  send  his 
bill  to  me  when  the  child's  properly  recovered ;  mark 
that — properly  recovered." 

A  noble  avenue,  that  swept  along  with  two  or  three 
magnificent  bends,  brought  them  up  to  a  fine  old  man- 
sion of  the  castellated  style,  where  the  squire  and  his 
two  equestrian  attendants  dismounted,  and  were  usher- 
ed into  the  parlor,  which  they  found  brilliantly  lighted 
up  with  a  number  of  large  wax  tapers.  The  furniture 
of  the  room  was  exceedingly  rich,  but  somewhat  curi- 
ous and  old-fashioned.  It  was  such,  however,  as  to 
give  ample  proof  of  great  wealth  and  comfort,  and  by 
the  heat  of  a  large  peat  fire,  which  blazed  in  the  capa- 
cious hearth,  it  communicated  that  sense  of  warmth 
which  was  in  complete  accordance  with  the  general  as- 
pect of  the  apartment.  An  old,  gray-haired  butler,  well 
powdered,  together  with  two  or  three  other  servants  in 


WILLY    REILLY.  39 

rich  livery,  now  entered,  and  the  squire's  first  in- 
quiry was  after  liis  daughter. 

'^  John,"  said  he  to  the  butler,  "how  is  your  mis- 
tress f "  But,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  added, 
'''  Here  are  twenty  pounds,  which  you  will  hand  to  those 
due  fellows  at  the  hall  door." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  those  men  are  my 
tenants,  and  the  sons  of  my  tenants :  they  have  only 
performed  towards  you  a  duty,  which  common  human- 
ity would  require  at  their  hands  towards  the  humblest 
person  that  lives." 

^'  They  must  accept  it,  Mr.  Reilly — they  must  have 
it — they  are  humble  men — and  as  it  is  only  the  reward 
of  a  kind  office,  I  think  it  is  justly  due  to  them.  Here, 
John,  give  them  the  money." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Reilly  interposed — the  old  squire 
would  not  listen  to  him.  John  was,  accordingly,  de- 
spatched to  the  hall  steps,  but  found  that  they  had  all 
gone. 

At  this  moment  our  friend  Tom  Steeple  met  the  but- 
ler, whom  he  approached  with  a  kind  of  wild  and  un- 
couth anxiety. 

"  Aha  !  Mista  John,"  said  he,  "  you  tall  man  too, 
but  not  tall  as  Tom  Steeple — ha,  ha — jon  good  man 
too,  Mista  riohn — give  Tom  bully  dinners — Willy 
Reilly,  Mista  John,  want  to  see  Wiri3"  Reilly." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him,  Tom*?  He's  engaged 
with  the  master." 

''  Must  see  him,  Mista  John  ;  stitch  in  time  saves  nine. 
Hicko  !  hicko  !  God's  sake,  Mista  John,  God's  sake  ! 
Up  dere,"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  pointed  towards  the  sky. 

'^  Well,  but  what  is  your  business,  then?  What  have 
you  to  say  to  him  f  He's  engaged,  I  tell  you." 

Tom,  apprehensive  that  he  might  not  get  an  oppor- 
tunity of  communicating  with  Reilly,  bolted  in,  and 
as  the  parlor  door  stood  open,  he  saw  him  standing 
near  the  large  chimney-piece. 


40  WILLY    REILLY. 

^' Willy  Reilly,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that  trem- 
bled with  earnestness,  ''  Willy  Reilly,  dere's  news  for 
you — for  the  squire,  too — bad  news — God's  sake,  come 
wid  Tom — you  tall,  too — Willy  Reilly,  but  not  tall  as 
Tom  is." 

''What  is  the  matter,  Tom  ? "  asked  Reilly,  ''you 
look  alarmed." 

"  God's  sake,  here,  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  kind- 
hearted  fool,  "  come  wid  Tom,  bad  news." 

"  Hallo  !  "  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  what  is  the  matter! 
Is  this  Tom  Steeple  ?  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Tom,  and 
get  one  of  your  bully  dinners — my  poor  fellow — off 
with  you — and  a  pot  of  beer,  Tom." 

An  expression  of  distress,  probably  heightened  by 
his  vague  and  unconscious  sense  of  the  squire's  kind- 
ness, was  depicted  strongly  on  his  countenance,  and 
ended  in  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  Ha  ! "  exclaimed  Reilly,  ''poor  Tom,  sir,  was  with 
us  to-night  on  our  duck-shooting  excursion,  and,  now 
that  I  remember,  remained  behind  us  in  the  old  ruin — 
and  then  he  is  in  tears.  What  can  this  mean  !  I  will 
go  with  you,  Tom — excuse  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes 
— there  can  be  no  harm  in  hearing  what  he  has  to 
say." 

He  accompanied  the  fool,  with  whom  he  remained 
for  about  six  or  eight  minutes,  after  which  he  re-entered 
the  parlor  with  a  face  which  strove  in  vain  to  main- 
tain its  previous  expression  of  ease  and  serenity. 

"  Well,  Willy  !  "  said  the  squire ;  "  you  see,  by  the 
way,  I  make  an  old  acquaintance  of  you." 

"  You  do  me  honor,  sir,"  replied  Reilly. 

''  Well,  Avhat  was  this  mighty  matter?  Not  a  fool's 
message,  I  hope  ?  eh !  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  other,  '^  but  a  matter  of  some  im- 
portance." 

"  John,  "  asked  his  master,  as  the  butler  entered,"  did 
you  give  those  worthy  fellows  the  money!" 


WILLY    REILLY.  41 

^'No,  your  honor,"  replit^d  tlie  other,  "they  were 
gone  before  I  went  out." 

''  Well,  well,"  replied  his  master,  "  it  can't  be  helped. 
You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  a — a — yes,  Mr.  Reilly-Willy- 
Willy — ay,  that's  it — 3^ou  will  excuse  me,  Willy,  for 
not  bringing  you  to  the  drawing-room.  The  fact  is, 
neither  of  us  is  in  a  proper  trim  to  go  there, — both  travel- 
soiled,  as  they  say — you  with  duck-shooting  and  I 
with  a  long  ride— besides,  I  am  quite  too  much  fa- 
tigued to  change  my  dress — John,  some  Madeira.  I'm 
better  than  I  was — but  still  dreadfully  exhausted — and 
afterwards,  Jolm,  tell  your  mistress  that  her  father 
wishes  to  see  her  here.  First,  the  Madeira,  though, 
till  I  recruit  myself  a  little.  A  glass  or  two  will  do 
neither  of  us  any  harm,  Willy,  but  a  great  deal  of  good. 
God  bless  me  !  what  an  escape  I've  had  !  what  a  dread- 
ful fate  you  rescued  me  from,  my  young  friend  and 
preserver — for  as  such  I  will  ever  look  upon  you." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Eeilly,  "  I  will  not  deny  that  the  ap- 
pearance of  myself  and  my  companions,  in  all  proba- 
bility, saved  your  life." 

"  There  was  no  probability  in  it,  Willy — none  at  all 
— it  would  have  been  a  dead  certainty  in  every  sense. 
My  God  ! — Here,  Jolm — put  it  down  here — fill  for  that 
gentleman  and  me — thank  you,  John — Willy,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  the  glass  in  his  trembling  hand — "  Willy — • 
John,  withdraw,  and  send  down  my  daughter — Willy," 
— the  old  man  looked  at  him,  but  was  too  full  to  utter 
a  word.  At  this  moment  his  dauofhter  entered  the 
room,  and  her  father,  laying  down  the  glass,  opened  his 
arms,  and  said  in  a  choking  voice,  ''Helen,  my 
daughter — my  child — come  to  me  ;"  and  as  she  threw 
herself  into  them  he  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  wept 
aloud. 

"  Dear  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  after  the  first  burst  of 
his  grief  was  over,  ''  what  has  afi'ected  you  so  deeply! 
Why  are  you  so  nmch  agitated!" 


42  .    WILLY    REILLY. 

^'  Look  at  the  noble  young  man,"  he  exclaimed^ 
directing  her  attention  to  Keilly ,  who  was  still  standing. 
''  Look  at  him,  my  life,  and  observe  him  well ;  there  he 
stands,  who  has  this  night  saved  your  loving  father 
from  the  deadly  aim  of  an  assassin — from  being  murder- 
ed by  O'Donnel,  the  Red  Rapparee,  in  the  lonely  m.oors." 

Reilly,  from  the  moment  the  far-famed  Coleen  Baivn 
entered  the  room,  heard  not  a  syllable  the  old  man  had 
said.  He  was  absorbed,  entranced,  struck  with  a  sen- 
sation of  wonder,  surprise,  agitation,  joy  and  confusion, 
all  nearly  at  the  same  moment.  Such  a  blaze  of  beauty, 
such  elegance  of  person,  such  tenderness  and  feeling  as 
chastened  the  radiance  of  her  countenance  into  some- 
thing that  might  be  termed  absolutely  divine  ;  such 
symmetry  of  form,  such  harmony  of  motion  ;  such  a 
seraphic  being  in  the  shape  of  woman,  he  had,  in  fact, 
never  seen  or  dreamt  of  She  seemed  as  if  surrounded 
by  an  atmosphere  of  light,  of  dignity,  of  goodness,  of 
grace :  but  that  which  above  all  smote  his  heart  on  the 
moment  was  the  spirit  of  tenderness  and  profound  sen- 
sibility which  seemed  to  predominate  in  her  whole  be- 
ing. Why  did  his  manly  and  intrepid  heart  palpitate  ? 
Why  did  such  strange  confusion  seize  upon  him  I  Why 
did  the  few  words  which  she  uttered  in  her  father's  arms 
fill  his  ears  with  a  melody  that  charmed  him  out  of  his 
strength!  Alas!  is  it  necessary  to  ask  I  To  those  who 
do  not  understand  this  mystery,  no  explanation  could 
be  of  any  avail ;  and  to  those  who  do,  none  is  neces- 
sary. 

After  her  father  had  spoken,  she  raised  herself  from 
his  arms,  and  assuming  her  full  height — and  she  was 
tall — looked  for  a  moment  with  lier  dark,  deep,  and 
terrible  eyes  upon  Reilly,  who  in  the  meantime  felt 
rapt,  spell-bound,  and  stood,  whilst  his  looks  were  riv- 
eted upon  those  irresistible  orbs,  as  if  he  had  been  at- 
tracted by  the  influence  of  some  delightful  but  super- 
natural power,  under  which  he  felt  himself  helpless. 


WILLY   REILLY.  43 

That  mutual  gaze  and  that  delightful  moment  •  Alas  ! 
how  many  hours  of  misery,  of  sorrow,  of  suffering,  and 
of  madness  did  they  not  occasion  ! 

"Papa  has  imposed  a  task  upon  me,  sir,"  she  said, 

Ivancing  gracefully  towards  him,  her  complexion  now 

,  ale,  and  again  overspread  with  deep  blushes.     '^  What 

do  I  say?     A  task — a  task  !  to  thank  the  preserver  of 

my  father's  life — I  know  not  what  I  say  ;  help  me,  sir, 

to  papa — I  am  weak — I  am "  Reilly  flew  to  her, 

and  caught  her  in  his  arms  just  in  time  to  prevent 
her  from  falling. 

''  My  God  !  "  exclaimed  her  father,  getting  to  his  feet, 
"what  is  the  matter?  I  was  wrong  to  mention  the 
circumstance  so  abruptly — I  ought  to  have  prepared 
her  for  it.  You  are  strong,  Reilly,  you  are  strong,  and 
I  am  too  feeble — carry  her  to  the  sofa.  There,  God 
bless  you — God  bless  you  ! — she  will  soon  recover. 
Helen  !  my  child !  my  life  !  What,  Helen !  Come, 
dearest  love,  be  a  woman.  I  am  safe,  as  you  may  see, 
dearest.  I  tell  you  I  sustained  no  injury  in  life — not 
a  hair  of  my  head  was  hurt ;  thanks  to  Mr.  Reilly  for 
it — thanks  to  this  gentleman.  O  that's  right ;  bravo, 
Helen, — bravo,  my  girl !  See  that,  Reill}^,  isn't  she  a 
glorious  creature  ?  She  recovers  now,  to  set  her  old 
loving  father's  heart  at  ease." 

The  weakness,  for  it  did  not  amount  altogether  to 
insensibility,  was  only  of  brief  duration. 

""  Dear  papa,"  said  she,  raising  herself,  and  with- 
drawing gently  and  cautiously  from  Reilly's  support, 
"  I  was  unprepared  for  the  account  of  this  dreadful 
affair.  Excuse  me,  sir ;  surely  you  will  admit  that  a 
murderous  attack  on  dear  papa's  life  could  not  be  list- 
ened to  by  his  only  child  with  indifference.  But  do 
let  me  know  how  it  happened,  papa." 

'^  You  are  not  yet  equal  to  it,  darling — you  are  too 
much  agitated." 

*'  I  am  equal  to  it  now,  papa  !     Pray  let  me  hear  it. 


44  WILLY    REILLY. 

and  how  this  gentleman — who  will  be  kind  enough 
to  imagine  my  thanks,  for,  indeed,  no  language  could 
express  them— and  how  this  gentleman  was  the  means 
of  saving  you." 

"Perhaps,  Miss  Folhard,"  said  Reilly,  ''it  would  be 
better  to  defer  the  explanation  until  you  sliall  have 
gained  more  strength." 

'^  O  no,  sir,"  she  replied  ;  ''my  anxiety  to  hear  it 
will  occasion  me  greater  suffering,  I  am  sure,  than  the 
knowledge  of  it,  especially  now  that  papa  is  safe." 

Reilly  bowed  in  acquiescence,  but  not  in  conse- 
quence of  her  words  ;  a  glance  as  quick  as  the  lightning, 
but  full  of  entreaty  and  gratitude,  and  something  like 
joy — for  who  does  not  know  the  many  languages  which 
the  single  glance  of  a  lovely  woman  can  speak  f — such  a 
glance,  we  say,  accompanied  her  words,  and  at  once 
won  him  to  assent. 

"  MissFolliard  may  be  right,  sir,"  he  observed,  "and 
as  the  shock  has  passed,  perhaps  to  make  her  briefly 
acquainted  with  the  circumstances  will  rather  relieve 
her." 

"  Right,"  saidher  father,  "  so  it  will,  Willy,  so  it  will ; 
especially,  thank  God,  as  there  has  been  no  harm  done. 
Look  at  this,  now  !  Get  away,  you  saucy  baggage  ! 
Your  poor  loving  father  has  only  just  escaped  being 
shot,  and  now  he  runs  the  risk  of  being  strangled." 

"Dear,  dear  papa,"  she  said,  "who  could  have 
thought  of  injuring  you — you  with  your  angry  tongue, 
but  your  generous  and  charitable  and  noble  heart  I " 
and  again  she  wound  her  exquisite  and  lovely  arms 
about  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  whilst  a  fresh  gush  of 
tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  Helen,  come  love,  be  quiet  now,  or  I  shall 
not  tell  you  anything  more  about  my  rescue  by  that 
gallant  young  fellow,  standing  before  you." 

This  was  followed,  on  her  part,  by  another  glance  at 
Reilly,  and  the  glance  was  as  speedily  followed  by  a 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  45 

blush,  and  again  a  host  ol  tiiiniiltuous  omotione  crowded 
around  his  heart. 

The  old  man,  placing  her  head  upoli  his  bosom, 
kissed  and  patted  her,  after  which  he  related  briefly 
and  in  such  a  way  as  not,  if  possible,  to  excite  her 
afresh,  the  circumstances  with  which  the  reader  is  already 
acquainted,  At  the  close,  however,  when  he  came  to  the 
part  which  Reilly  had  borne  in  the  matter,  and  dwelt 
at  more  length  on  his  intrepidity  and  spirit,  and  the 
energy  of  character  and  coura<?-e  with  which  he  quelled 
the  terrible  Rapparee,  he  was  obliged  to  stop  for  a 
moment  and  say — 

"  Why,  Helen,  what  is  the  matter  my  darling  1  Are 
you  getting  ill  again  ?  Your  little  heart  is  going  at  a 
gallop — bless  me,  how  it  pit-a-pats  !  There  now, 
you've  heard  it  all — here  I  am  safe — and  there  stands 
the  gentleman  to  whom,  under  God,  we  are  both 
indebted  for  it.  And  now  let  us  have  dinner,  darling, 
for  we  have  not  dined." 

Apologies  on  the  part  of  Reilly,  who  really  had  dined, 
were  flung  to  the  winds  by  the  old  squire, 

'^  What  matter,  Willy "?  what  matter,  man? — sit  at 
the  table,  pick  something — d — n  it,  we  won't  eat  you. 
Your  dress  !  never  mind  your  dress.  I  am  sure  Helen, 
here,  will  not  find  fault  with  it.  Come,  Helen,  use  your^ 
influence,  love.  And  you,  sir,  Willy  Reilly,  give  her 
your  arm."  This  he  added  in  consequence  of  dinner 
having  been  announced  while  he  spoke. 


46  '>VILLY    EEILLY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DARING    ATTEMPT    OF    THE    RED    RAPPAREE — MYSTER  OUii 
DISAPPEARANCE  OF  HIS  GANG THE  AVOWAL. 

We  must  go  back  a  little.  When  Helen  sank 
under  the  dreadful  intelligence  of  the  attempt  made  to 
assassinate  her  father,  we  stated  at  the  time  that  she 
was  not  absolutely  insensible  ;  and  this  was  the  fact. 
Reilly,  already  enraptured  by  such  wonderful  grace 
and  beauty  as  the  liighest  flight  of  his  imagination 
had  never  conceived,  when  called  upon  by  her  father 
to  carry  her  to  the  sofa,  could  scarcely  credit  his  senses 
that  such  a  lovely  and  precious  burden  should  ever 
be  intrusted  to  him,  much  less  borne  in  his  very  arms. 
In  order  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  he  was  literally 
obliged  to  throw  them  around  her,  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  to  press  her — for  the  purpose  of  supporting 
her — against  his  heart,  the  pulsations  of  which  were 
going  at  a  tremendous  speed.  There  was,  in  fact, 
something  so  soft,  so  pitiable,  so  beautiful,  so  volup- 
tuous, and  at  the  same  time  so  exquisitely  pure  and 
fragrant,  in  this  lovely  creature,  as  her  head  lay 
drooping  on  his  shoulder,  her  pale  cheek  literally  lying 
against  his,  that  it  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at  that 
the  beatings  of  his  heart  were  accelerated  to  an  unusual 
degree.  He  would  have  been  either  more  or  less  than 
man  if  they  had  not.  Now,  she  from  her  position 
upon  his  bosom,  necessarily  felt  this  rapid  action 
of  its  tenant ;  and  as  Reilly  was  about  to  place  her 
on  the  sofa,  can  we  feel  surprised  that  in  this  whirl- 
wind of  rapture  and  intoxication,  when  the  floodgates 
of  his  warm  and  manly  heart  had  been  opened  for  the 
first  time,  he  by  an   overwlielming  and    delicious   im- 


WILLY    RKILLY.  47 

puiso,  wlilch  lio  could  not  restrain,  giive  lier  a  gentle  but 
involuntary  pressure  against  that  tumultuous  breast? 
Vfhen,  therefore,  her  father,  after  her  recovery,  on 
reciting  for  her  the  fearful  events  of  the  evening,  and 
dwelling  upon  Reilly's  determination  and  courage, 
expressed  alarm  at  the  palpitations  of  lier  heart,  a 
glance  passed  between  them  which  each,  once  and 
forever,  understood.  She  had  felt  the  agitation  of 
Ms,  who  had  risked  his  life  in  defence  of  her  father, 
for  in  this  shape  the  old  man  had  truly  put  it ;  and 
now  she  knew,  from  her  father's  observations,  as  his 
arm  lay  upon  her  own,  that  the  interest  which  his 
account  of  Reilly's  chivalrous  conduct  throughout  the 
whole  affair  had  excited  in  it  w^as  discovered.  In  this 
case  heart  spoke  to  heart,  and  by  the  time  they  sat 
down  to  dinner,  each  felt  conscious  that  their  passion, 
brief  as  was  the  period  of  their  acquaintance,  had 
become,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  the  uncontrollable 
destiny  of  their  lives. 

William  Reilly  was  a  descendant  of  an  old  and  noble 
Irish  family.  His  ancestors  had  gone  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  and  trials,  and  been  engaged  in  most  of  the 
civil  broils  and  wars,  which,  in  Ireland,  had  characterized 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  As  we  are  not  disposed  to  en- 
ter into  a  disquisition  upon  the  history  of  that  stormy 
period,  unless  to  say  that  we  believe  in  our  souls  both 
parties  were  equally  savage  and  inhuman,  and  that  there 
was  not,  literally,  a  toss-up  between  them,  w^e  have 
only  to  add,  that  Reilly's  family,  at  least  that  branch 
of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  had  been  reduced  by  the 
ruin  that  resulted  from  the  civil  wars,  and  the  confis- 
cations peculiar  to  the  times.  His  father  had  made  a 
good  deal  of  money  abroad  in  business,  but  feeling  that 
melancholy  longing  for  his  native  soil,  for  the  dark 
mountains  and  the  green  fields  of  his  beloved  country, 
he  returned  to  it,  and  having  taking  a  large  farm  of 
about  a  thousand  acres,  under  a  peculiar  tenure,  which 


48  WILLY   REILLY. 

we  shall  nention  ere  we  close,  he  devoted  himself  to 
pasturage  and  agriculture.  Old  Reilly  had  been  for 
some  years  dead,  and  his  eldest  son,  William,  was  now 
not  only  the  head  of  his  immediate  family,  but  of  that 
great  branch  of  it  to  which  he  belonged,  althougli  he 
neither  claimed  nor  exercised  the  honor.  In  Reilly, 
many  of  those  irreconcilable  points  of  character,  which 
scarcely  ever  meet  in  the  disposition  of  any  but  an 
Irishman,  were  united.  He  was  at  once  mild  and  im- 
petuous ;  mider  peculiar  circumstances,  humble  and  un- 
assuming, but,  in  others,  proud  almost  to  a  fault ;  a  bit- 
ter foe  to  oppression  in  every  sense,  and  to  bigotry  in 
every  creed.  He  was  highly  educated,  and  as  perfect 
a  master  of  French,  Spanish,  and  German,  as  he  was 
of  either  English  or  Irish,  both  of  which  he  spoke  with 
equal  fluency  and  purity.  To  his  personal  courage  we 
need  not  make  any  further  allusion.  On  many  oc- 
casions it  had  been  well  tested  on  the  Continent.  He 
was  an  expert  and  unrivalled  swordsman  and  a  first-rate 
shot,  .whether  with  the  pistol  or  fowling-piece.  At 
every  athletic  exercise  he  was  matchless ;  and  one 
great  cause  of  his  popularity  among  the  peasantry  was 
the  pleasure  he  took  in  promoting  the  exercises  of  such 
manly  sports  among  them.  In  his  person  he  combined 
great  strength  with  remarkable  grace  and  ease.  The 
wonderful  symmetry  of  his  form  took  away  apparently 
from  his  size ;  but  on  looking  at  and  examining  him 
closely,  you  felt  surprised  at  the  astonishing  fulness  of 
his  proportions,  and  the  prodigious  muscular  power 
which  lay  under  such  deceptive  elegance.  As  for  his 
features,  they  were  replete  with  that  manly  expression 
which  changes  with,  and  becomes  a  candid  exponent  of 
every  feeling  that  influences  the  heart.  His  mouth 
was  fine,  and  his  full  red  lips  exquisitely  chiselled ;  his 
chin  was  full  of  firmness  ;  and  his  large  dark  eyes, 
though  soft,  mellow,  and  insinuating,  had  yet  a  sparkle 
in  them  that  gave  evidence  of  a  fiery  spirit  when  pro- 


WILLY    KEILLY.  49 

voked,  as  well  as  of  a  liigli  sense  of  self-respect  and 
honor.  His  complexion  was  slightly  bronzed  by  resi- 
dence in  continental  climates — a  circumstance  that  gave 
a  warmth  and  mellowness  to  his  features,  which,  when 
taJien  into  consideration  with  his  black,  clustering  locks, 
and  the  snowy  whiteness  of  his  forehead,  placed  him  in 
the  very  highest  order  of  handsome  men. 

Such  was  our  hero,  the  fame  of  whose  personal  beau- 
ty, as  well  as  that  of  the  ever-memorable  Coleen  Baivn, 
is  yet  a  tradition  in  the  country. 

On  this  occasion  the  dinner-party  consisted  only  of 
the  squire,  his  daughter,  and  Reilly.  The  old  man,  on 
reflecting  that  he  was  now  safe,  felt  his  spirits  revive 
apace.  His  habits  of  life  were  jolly  and  convivial,  but 
not  actually  intemperate,  though  it  must  be  admitted 
that  on  some  occasions  he  got  into  the  debatable  ground. 
To  those  who  did  not  know  him,  and  who  we  ac- 
quainted through  common  report  only  with  his  unmit- 
igated abuse  of  Popery,  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  op- 
pressive and  overbearing  tyrant,  who  would  enforce,  to 
the  furthest  possible  stretch  of  severity,  the  penal 
enactments  then  in  existence  against  Roman  Catholics. 
And  this,  indeed,  was  true,  so  far  as  any  one  was  con- 
cerned from  whom  he  imagined  himself  to  have  re- 
ceived an  injury  ;  against  such  he  was  a  vindictive 
tyrant,  and  a  most  implacable  persecutor.  By  many, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  was  considered  as  ar^  eccentric 
man,  with  a  weak  head,  but  a  heart  that  often  set  all 
his  anti-Catholic  prejudices  at  complete  defiance. 

At  dinner,  the  squire  had  most  of  the  conversation  to 
himself,  his  loquacity  and  good- humor  having  been  very 
much  improved  by  a  few  glasses  of  his  rich  old  Madeira. 
His  daughter,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  frequently  in 
a  state  of  abstraction,  and,  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, found  herself  incapable  of  answering  several  ques- 
tions which  he  put  to  her.  Ever  and  anon,  the  timid, 
blushing  glance  was  directed  at  Reilly,  by  whom  it  was 


50  WILLY    KEILLY. 

returned  with  a  significance  that  went  directly  to  her 
heart.  Both,  in  fact,  seemed  to  be  influenced  hj  some 
secret  train  of  thought  that  seemed  quite  at  variance 
with  the  old  gentleman's  garrulity. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  '^  here  we  are,  thank  God,  all  safe  ; 
and  it  is  to  you,  Willy,  we  owe  it.  Come,  man,  take 
off  your  wine.     Isn't  he  a  fine  young  fellow,  Helen  f  '^ 

Helen's  heart  at  that  moment  had  followed  her  eves, 
and  she  did  not  hear  him. 

^'  Hallo  !  what  the  deuce !  By  the  banks  of  the  Boyne, 
I  believe  the  girl  has  lost  her  hearing.  I  say,  Helen, 
isn't  Willy  Reilly  here,  that  prevented  you  from  being 
an  orphan,  a  fine  young  fellow  ?  " 

A  sudden  rosy  blush  suffused  her  whole  neck  and 
face  on  hearing  this   blunt  and  inconsiderate  question. 

''What,  darling,  have  you  not  heard  me?" 

*'  If  Mr.  Reilly  were  not  present,  papa,  I  might  give 
an  opinion  on  that  subject ;  but  I  trust  you  will  excuse 
me  now." 

''  Well,  I  suppose  so  ;  there's  no  getting  women  to 
speak  to  the  point.  At  all  events,  I  would  give  more 
than  I'll  mention  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  as 
good-looking  a  specimen  of  a  man  ;  I'll  engage  if  he 
was,  you  would  have  no  objection  to  say  yes,  my  girl." 

"  I  look  to  the  disposition,  papa,  to  the  moral  feelings 
and  principles,  more  than  to  the  person." 

*' Well,  Helen,  that's  right,  too,  all  right,  darling,  and 
on  that  account  Sir  Robert  must,  and  ought  to  be,  a 
favorite.  He  is  not  yet  forty,  and  for  this  he  is  himself 
my  authority,  and  forty  is  the  prime  of  life  ;  yet,  with 
an  immense  fortune  and  strong  temptations,he  has  never 
launched  out  into  a  single  act  of  imprudence  or  folly. 
No,  Helen,  he  never  sowed  a  peck  of  wild  oats  in  his 
life.  He  is,  on  the  contrary,  sober,  grave,  silent — a 
little  too  much  so,  by  the  way — cautious,  prudent,  and 
saving.  No  man  knows  tiie  value  of  money  better,  nor 
can  contrive  to  make  it  go  further.     Then,  as  for  man- 


WILLY    REILLY.  51 

jing  a  bargain — upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think  he  treated 
n\e  well,  though,  in  the  swap  of '  Hop-and-go-constant' 
a^inst  my  precious  bit  of  blood,  '  Pat  the  Spanker.' 
H^  made  me  pay  him  twenty-five  pounds  boot  for  a 
d — d — .  But  you  shall  see  him,  Reilly,  you  shall  see 
him,  Willy,  and  if  ever  there  was  a  greater  take  in — 
you  needn't  smile,  .Helen,  nor  look  at  Willy.  By  the 
good  King  William,  that  saved  us  from  the  pope,  and — 
ahem — I  beg  pardon,  Willy,  but,  upon  my  soul,  he  took 
me  completely  in.  I  say,  I  shall  show  you  ^  Hop-and 
go-constant,'  and  when  you  see  him,  you'll  admit  the 
'  Hop,'  but  the  devil  a  bit  you  will  find  of  the  '  Go-con- 
stant.' " 

^'  I  suppose  the  gentleman's  personal  appearance,  sir," 
observed  Reilly,  glancing  at  Miss  Folliard,  ''  is  equal  to 
his  other  qualities." 

''  Why — a — ye — s.  He's  tall,  smd  thin,  and  serious, 
with  something  about  him,  say  of  a  philosopher.  Isn't 
that  true,  Helen  I " 

"  Perfectly,  papa,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile  of  arch 
humor,  which,  to  Reilly,  placed  her  character  in  a  new 
light.  ''  Perfectly  true,  papa,  so  far  as  you  have  gone ; 
but  I  trust  you  will  finish  the  portrait  for   Mr.  Reilly." 

''Well,  then,  I  will.  Where  was  I?  O  yes — tall 
thin,  and  serious ;  like  a  philosopher.  I'll  go  next  to 
the  shoulders,  because  Helen  seems  to  like  them — they 
are  a  little  round,  or  so.  I  myself  wish  to  God  they 
were  somewhat  straighter,  but  Helen  says  the  curve's 
delightful,  being  what  painters  and  glaziers  call  the  line 
of  beauty." 

A  sweet  little  laugh,  that  rang  with  the  melody  of  a 
musical  bell,  broke  from  Helen  at  this  part  of  the  de- 
scription, in  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was  joined  by 
Reilly.  The  old  man  himself,  from  sheer  happiness  and 
good-humor,  joined  them  both,  though  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  their  mirth. 

"Ay,  ay,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  may  laugh — by  the 


52  WILLY    REILLY. 

great  Boyne,  I  know  I  would  make  you  laugh.  Well, 
I'll  go  on  :  his  complexion  is  of  a — a — no  matter — of  a 
good  standing  color,  at  all  events  ;  his  nose,  I  grant 
you,  is  thin  and  much  of  the  same  color,  as  paste- 
board, but  as  a  set-off  to  that,  it's  a  thorough  William- 
iie.     Isn't  that  true,  Helen!" 

"Yes,  papa;  but  I  think  King  William's  nose  was 
the  worst  feature  in  his  face,  although  that  certainly 
cannot  be  said  of  Sir  Robert." 

'^  Do  your  hear  that,  Reilly  ?  I  wish  to  heaven  Sir 
Robert  heard  it,  but  I'll  tell  him — there's  a  compliment, 
Helen — you're  a  good  girl — thank  you,  Helen." 

Helen's  face  was  now  radiant  with  mirthful  enjoy- 
ment, whilst  at  the  same  time  Reilly  could  perceive 
that  from  time  to  time  a  deep  unconscious  sigh  would 
escape  lier,  such  a  sigh  as  induced  him  to  infer  that 
some  liidden  care  was  at  work  with  her  heart.  This  he 
at  once  imputed  to  her  father's  determination  to  force 
her  into  marriage  with  the  worthy  baronet,  whom,  in 
his  simplicity,  he  was  so  ludicrously  describing. 

''  Proceed,  papa,  and  finish  as  you  have  begun  it." 

''I  will,  to  oblige  and  gratify  you,  Helen.  He  is  a 
little  close  about  the  knees,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  a  little  close 
about  the  knees,  Willy." 

"  And  about  the  heart,  papa,"  added  his  daughter, 
who  for  the  life  of  her  could  not  restrain  the  observa- 
tion. 

"  It's  no  fault  to  know  the  value  of  money,  my  dear 
child.  However,  let  me  go  on  : — close  about  the  knees ; 
but  that's  a  proof  of  strength,  because  they  support  one 
another ;  every  one  knows  that " 

"  But  his  arms,  papa" 

"  You  see,  Reilly,  you  see,  Willy,"  said  the  squire, 
nodding  in  the  direction  of  his  daugliter,  "  not  a  bad 
sign  that,  and  yet  she  pretends  not  to  care  about  him. 
She  is  gratified  evidently.  Ah,  Helen,  Helen  !  it's  har<~ 
to  know  woman." 


WILLY   REILLY.  '  53 

"  But  liis  arms,  papa." 

\J' Well,  then,  I  wish  to  heaven  you  would  allow  nie 
to  skip  that  part  of  the  subject — they  are  an  awful 
length,  Willy,  I  grant.  I  allow  the  fact,  it  cannot  be 
denied,  they  are  an  awful  length."       ^ 

**lt  w^ill  give  him  the  greater  advantages  in  over- 
reaching, papa." 

*'  Well,  as  to  his  arms,  upon  my  soul,  Willy,  I  know 
no  more  w^hat  to  do  with  them " 

"  Than  lie  does  himself,  papa." 

**  Just  so,  Helen  ;  they  hang  about  him  like  those  of 
a  skeleton  on  wires  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  a 
neck  that  always  betokens  true  blood,  long  and  thin 
like  that  of  a  racer.  Altoorether  he's  a  devilish  interest- 
ing  man,  steady,  prudent,  and  sober.  I  never  saw  him 
drink  a  third  glass  of " 

"In  the  meantime,  papa,"  observed  Helen,  "in  the 
enthusiasm  of  your  description,  you  are  neglecting  Mr. 
Reilly." 

Ah,  love  !  love  !  in  how  many  minute  points  can  you 
make  yourself  understood  ! 

"  By  the  Great  William,  and  so  I  am.  Come,  Willy, 
help  yourself," — and  he  pushed  the  bottle  towards  him 
as  he  spoke. 

And  why,  gentle  reader,  did  Reilly  fill  his  glass  on  this 
particular  occasion  until  it  became  literally  a  brimmer  % 
We  know — but  if  you  are  ignorant  of  it  w^e  simply  beg 
you  to  remain  so  ;  and  why,  on  putting  the  glass  to  his 
lips,  did  his  large,  dark  eyes  rest  upon  her  with  that  deep 
and  melting  glance?  Why,  too,  was  that  glance  return- 
ed with  the  quickness  of  thought  before  her  lids  dropped, 
and  the  conscious  blush  suffused  her  face  ?  The  solution 
of  this  we  must  also  leave  to  your  own  ingenuity. 

"Well,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "steady,  prudent,  so- 
ber— of  a  fine  old  family,  and  with  an  estate  of  thirty 
thousand  a  ^^ear^— what  do  you  think  of  that,  Willy  % 
Isn't  she  a  fortunate  girl  ?" 


54  '  WILLY    REILLY. 

''  Taking  Ins  virtues,  and  very  agreeable  person  into 
consideration,  sir,  I  think  so,"  replied  Reilly,  in  a  tone 
of  slight  sarcasm,  which  was  only  calculated  to  reach 
one  of  his  audience. 

"'  You  hear  that,  Helen — you  hear  what  Mr.  R^illy 
— what  Willy — says.  The  fact  is.  Til  call  you  nothing 
but  Willy  in  future,  Willy — you  hear  what  he  says, 
darling." 

''Indeed  I  do,  papa,    and  understand  it   perfectly." 

''  That's  my  girl.  Thirty  thousand  a  year,  and  has 
money  lent  out  at  every  rate  of  interest  from  six  per 
cent,  up." 

''  And  yet  I  cannot  consider  him  as  interesting  on 
that  account,  papa." 

"  You  do,  Helen — nonsense,  my  love — you  do,  I  tell 
you — it's  all  make  believe  when  you  speak  to  the  con- 
trar}^ — don't  you  call  tlie  curve  on  his  slioulder  the  line 
of  beauty  ?  Come — come — you  know  I  only  want  to 
make  you  happy." 

''  It  is  time,  papa,  that  I  should  withdraw,"  she  re- 
plied, rising. 

Eeilly  rose  to  open  the  door. 

"  Good-night,  papa — dear,  dear  papa,"  she  added, 
putting  her  snowy  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissing 
him  tenderly.  "  I  know,"  she  added,  "that  the  great 
object  of  your  life  is  to  make  your  Coleen  Baivn  hnppy 
— and  in  doing  so,  dear  papa — there  now,  is  another 
kiss  for  you — a  little  bribe,  papa — in  doing  so  consult 
her  heart  as  well  as  your  own.     Good-night." 

"  Good-niglit,  my  treasure." 

During  this  little  scene  of  affectionate  tenderness, 
Reilly  stood  holding  the  door  open,  and  as  she  was 
going  out,  as  if  recollecting  herself,  she  turned  to  him 
and  said,  "  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Keilly,  I  fear  you  must 
think  me  ungrateful — I  have  not  yet  thanked  you 
for  the  service — a  service  indeed  so  important,  that 
no  language  could   find  expression  for  it — ^wliich   you 


WILLY    REILLY.  56 

have  rendered  to  dear  papa  and  to  me.  But,  Mr. 
Reilly,  I  pray  yoa,  do  not  think  me  ungrateful  or  in- 
sensible, for,  indeed,  I  am  neither.  Suffer  me  to  feel 
what  I  owe  you,  and  do  not  blame  me  if  I  cannot  ex- 
press it." 

*'  If  it  were  not  for  the  value  of  the  life  which  it  is 
probable  I  have  saved,  aijd  if  it  were  not  that  your 
happiness  was  so  deeply  involved  in  it,"  replied  Reilly, 
*'  I  would  say  that  you  overrate  what  1  have  done  this 
evening.  But  I  confess,  I  am  myself  now  forced  to 
see  the  value  of  my  services,  and  I  thank  Heaven  for 
having  made  me  the  humble  instrument  of  saving  your 
father's  life,  not  only  for  his  own  sake,  Miss  FoUiard^ 
but  for  yours.  I  now  feel  a  double  debt  of  gratitude 
to  Heaven  for  it." 

The  Coleen  Bawn  did  not  speak,  but  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  "•  Good-night,  sir,"  she  said,  "  I 
am  utterly  incapable  of  thanking  you  as  you  deserve, 
and  as  I  ought  to  thank  you.     Good-night !" 

She  extended  her  small  snowy  hand  to  him  as  she 
spoke.  Reilly  took  it  in  his — and  by  some  involun- 
tary impulse  he  could  not  avoid  giving  it  a  certain  de- 
gree of  pressure.  The  fact  is,  it  was  such  a  hand — 
so  white,  so  small,  so  soft,  so  warm,  so  provocative  of 
a  squeeze — that  he  felt  his  own  pressing  it,  he  knew 
not  how  nor  wherefore  ;  at  least  he  thought  so  at  the 
time ;  that  is  to  say,  if  he  were  capable  of  thinking 
distinctly  of  anything.  But,  heaven  and  earth  I  w^as 
it  true  %  no  delusion  ?  no  dream  ?  The  pressure  re- 
turned !  the  slightest,  the  most  gentle,  the  most  deli- 
cate pressure — the  barely  perceptible  pressure  !  Yes  ! 
it  was  beyond  all  doubt ;  for  although  the  act  itself 
was  light  as  delicac}^  and  modesty  could  make  it,  yet 
the  spirit — -the  lightnhig  spirit — which  is  shot  into  his 
bounding  and  enraptured  heart  could  not  be  for  a  mo- 
ment mistaken. 

As  she    was  running  up  the  stairs,    she    returned, 


56  WILLY    REiLLY. 

however,  and  again  approacliing  her  father,"  said — • 
whilst  Reilly  could  observe  that  her  cheek  was  flushed 
with  a  feeling  that  seemed  to  resemble  ecstasy — 
*'Papa,"  said  she,  'Svhat  a  stupid  girl  I  am!  I 
scarcely  know  what  I  am  saying  or  doing."  / 

''  By  the  great  Boyne,"  replied  the  father,  ''I'll  des- 
cribe him  to  you  every  night  in  the  week.  I  knew 
the  curve — the  line  of  beauty — would  get  into  your 
head  ;  but  what  is  it,  darling  ?" 

''  Will  you  and  Mr.  Reilly  have  tea  in  the  drawing- 
room,  or  shall  I  send  it  down  to  you  f ' 

''I  am  too  comfortable  in  my  easy-chair,  dear 
Helen  ;  no,  send  it  down." 

"After  the  shock  you  have  received,  papa,  per- 
haps you  might  wish  to  have  it  from  the  hand  of  your 
own  Coleen  Bawn  F" 

As  the  old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  they  liter- 
ally danced  with  delight.  "  Ah  !  Willy,"  said  he,  "  is 
it  any  wonder  I  should  love  her  T 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  replied  Reilly,  "  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  know  her,  and  not'  to  love  her.  I  now  be- 
Heve  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Reilly  ;  thank  you,  Willy  ;  shake  hands. 
Come,  Helen,  shake  hands  with  him.  That's  a  com- 
pliment. Shake  hands  with  him,  darling.  There  now, 
that's  all  right.  Yes,  my  love,  by  all  means,  come 
down  and  give  us  tea  here." 

Innocent  old  man — the  die  is  now  irrevocably  cast ! 
That  mutual  pressure,  and  that  mutual  glance.  Alas  ! 
alas  !  how  strange  and  incomprehensible  is  human  des- 
tiny ! 

After  she  had  gone  up-stairs,  the  old  man  said : 
'*  You  see,  Willy,  how  my  heart  and  soul  are  in 
that  angelic  creature.  The  great  object,  the  great  de- 
light, of  her  life  is  to  anticipate  all  my  wants  ;  to  study 
whatever  is  agreeable  to  me ;  in  fact,  to  make  me 
happy.     And   she    succeeds.     Everything    she    does 


WILLY    REILLY.  T)  < 

pleases  me.  By  the  grave  of  Scliomberg-,  slie's  beyond 
all  price.  It  is  ti'ue,  we  never  had  a  baronet  in  the 
family,  and  it  would  gratifiy  me  to  hear  her  called 
Lady  Whitecraft ;  still  I  say,  I  don't  care  for  rank  or 
ambition,  nor  would  I  sacrifice  my  child's  happiness 
to  either.  And  between  you  and  me,  if  she  declines 
to  have  him,  she  sha'n't  have  him,  that's  all  that's  to  be 
said  about  it.  He's  d — d  round  in  the  shoulders  :  and 
yet  so  inconsistent  are  women,  that  she  calls  a  pro- 
tuberance that  resembles  the  letter  C  the  line  of  beauty. 
Then,  again,  lie  hit  me  in  ^  Hop-and-go-constant' ;  and 
you  know  yourself,  Willy,  that  no  person  likes  to  be 
bit,  especially  by  the  man  he  intends  for  his  son-in-law. 
If  he  gives  me  the  hit  before  marriage,  what  would  he 
not  do  after  it  I  " 

"  This,  sir,  is  a  subject,"  replied  Reilly,  *'  on  which  I 
must  decline  to  give  an  opinion  :  but  I  think  that  no 
father  should  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  his  daughter  to 
his  own  inclinations.  However,  setting  this  matter 
aside,  I  have  something  of  deep  importance  to  mention 
to  you." 

''  To  me  !  Good  heavens  !  What  is  it  I  " 

'^  The  Eed  Rapparee,  sir,  has  formed  a  plan  to  rob, 
possibly  to  murder  you,  and,  what  is  worse — " 

'*  Worse  !  Why,  what  the  deuce — worse  !  Why,  what 
coidd  be  worse  f  " 

'^  The  dishonor  of  your  daughter.  It  is  his  intention 
to  carry  her  oif  to  the  mountains ;  but  pardon  me,  I 
cannot  bear  to  dwell  upon  the  diabolical  project." 

The  old  man  fell  back,  pale,  and  almost  insensible, 
in  his  chair. 

^'  Do  not  be  alarmed,  sir,"  proceeded  Reilly  ;  ^^  he 
will  be  disappointed.     I  have  taken  care  of  that.'" 

''  But,  Mr.  Reilly,  what — how — for  heaven's  sake, 
tell  me  what  you  know  about  it.  Are  you  sure  of  this  ? 
How  did  you  come  to  hear  of  it?  Tell  me — tell  me 
everything  about  it !     We  must  prepare  to  receive  the 


58  WILLY    REILLY. 

villains — we  must  instantly  get  assistance.  My  child 
— my  life — my  Helen,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  this 
monster !  " 

"  Hear  me,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  "  hear  me,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  I  have  taken  measures  to  frustrate  all  his  de- 
signs, and  to  have  him  a  prisoner  before  to-morrow's 
sun  arises." 

He  then  related  to  him  the  plan  laid  by  the  Red  Rap- 
paree,  as  overheard  by  Tom  Steeple,  and  as  it  was 
communicated  to  hunself  by  the  same  individual  sub- 
sequently, after  which  he  proceeded — 

''  The  fact  is,  sir,  I  have  sent  the  poor  fool,  who  is 
both  faithful  and  trustworthy,  to  summon  here  forty  or 
fifty  of  my  laborers  and  tenants.  They  must  be  placed  in 
the  out-houses,  and  whatever  arms  and  ammunition  you 
can  spare,  in  addition  to  the  weapons  which  they  shall 
bring  along  with  them,  must  be  made  available.  I  sent 
orders  that  they  should  be  here  about  nine  o'clock.  I, 
myself,  will  remain  in  this  house,  and  you  may  rest  as- 
sured that  your  life,  your  property,  and  your  child  shall 
be  all  safe.  I  know  the  strength  of  the  ruffian's  band ; 
it  only  consists  of  about  twelve  men,  or  rather  twelve 
devils,  but  he  and  they  will  find  themselves  mistaken." 

Before  Miss  Folliard  came  down  to  make  tea,  Reilly 
had  summoned  the  servants,  and  given  them  instruc- 
tions as  to  their  conduct  during  the  expected  attack. 
Having  arranged  this,  he  went  to  the  yard,  and  found 
a  large  body  of  his  tenants  armed  with  such  rude 
weapons  as  they  could  procure  ;  for,  at  this  period,  it 
was  a  felony  for  a  Roman  Catholic  to  have  or  carry  arms 
at  all.  The  old  squire,  however,  was  well  provided  in 
that  respect,  and,  accordingly,  such  as  could  be  spared 
from  the  house  were  distributed  among  them.  Mr. 
Folliard  himself  felt  his  spirit  animated  by  a  sense  of 
the  danger,  and  bustled  about  with  uncommon  energy 
and  activity,  considering  what  he  had  suffered  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,    At  all  events,  they  both  resolved 


WILLY    REII.LY.  59 

to  conceal  the  matter  from  Helen  till  the  last  mo- 
ment, in  order  to  spare  her  the  terror  and  alarm  which 
she  must  necessarily  feel  on  hearing  of  the  contemplat- 
ed violence.  At  tea,  however,  she  could  not  avoid  ob- 
serving that  something  had  disturbed  her  father,  who, 
from  his  naturally  impetuous  character,  ejaculated,  from 
time  to  time,  "  The  blood-thirsty  scoundrel ! — murder- 
ing ruffian  !  We  shall  hang  him,  though  ;  we  can  hang 
liimfortheconspirac;f.  Would  the  fool  Torn  Steeplers 
evidence  be  taken,  do  you  think  I " 

''  I  fear  not,  sir,"  replied  Reilly.  *'  In  the  mean- 
time, don't  think  of  it,  don't  further  distress  yourself 
about  it." 

""  To  think  of  attacking  my  house  though  :  and  if  it 
were  only  I  njyself  that — however,  we  are  prepared, 
that's  one  comfort ;  we  are  prepared  and  let  them — 
hem  ! — Helen,  my  darling,  now  that  we've  had  our  tea, 
will  you  retire  to  your  own  room  ^  I  wish  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Reilly,  here,  on  a  particular  and  important  subject, 
in  which  you  yourself  are  deeply  concerned.  Withdraw, 
my  love,  but  don't  go  to  bed  until  I  see  you  again." 

Helen  went  up-stairs  with  a  light  foot  and  a  bound- 
ing heart.  A  certain  hope,"  like  a  dream  of  far  off  and 
unexpected  happiness,  rushed  into  and  filled  her  bosom 
with  a  crowd  of  sensations  so  delicious,  that,  on  reach- 
ing her  own  room,  she  felt  completely  overpowered  by 
them,  and  was  only  relieved  by  a  burst  of  tears.  There 
was  now  but  one  image  before  her  imagination,  but  one 
image  impressed  upon  her  pure  and  fervent  heart ;  that 
image  was  the  first  that  love  had  ever  stamped  there, 
and  the  last  that  suffering,  sorrow,  madness,  and  death 
were  ever  able  to  tear  from  it. 

When  the  night  had  advanced  to  the  usual  hour  for 
retiring  to  rest,  it  was  deemed  necessary  to  make  Helen 
acquainted  with  the  meditated  outrage,  in  order  to  pire- 
vent  the  consequence  of  a  nocturnal  alarm  for  which 
she  might  be  altogether  unprepared.     This  was  accord- 


60  WILLY    REILLY. 

ingly  done,  and  her  natural  terrors  were  soothed  and 
combated  by  Reilly  and  her  father,  who  succeeded  in 
reviving  her  courage  and  in  enabUng  her  to  contem- 
plate what  was  to  happen  with  tolerable  composure. 

Until  abour  the  hour  of  two  o'clock  everything  re- 
mained silent.  Nobody  went  to  bed — the  male  ser- 
vants were  all  prepared — the  females,  some  in  tears, 
and  others  sustaining  and  comforting  those  who  were 
more  feeble -hearted.  Miss  Folliard  was  in  her  own 
room,  dressed.  At  about  half-past  two  she  heard  a 
stealthy  foot,  and  having  extinguished  the  light  in  her 
apartment,  with  great  presence  of  mind  she  rang  the 
bell,  whilst  at  the  same  moment  her  door  was  broken 
in,  and  a  man,  as  she  knew  by  his  step,  entered.  In 
the  meantime  the  house  was  alarmed — the  man  hav- 
ing hastily  projected  his  arms  about  in  several  directions, 
as  if  searching  for  her,  instantly  retreated — a  scuffle  was 
heard  outside  on  the  lobby — and  when  lights  and  as- 
'sistance  appeared,  there  were  found  eight  or  ten  men 
variously  armed,  all  of  whom  proved  to  be  a  portion  of 
the  guard  selected  by  Reilly  to  protect  the  house  and 
family.  These  men  maintained  that  tliey  had  seen  the 
Red  Rapparee  on  the  roof  of  the  |iouse,  through  wliich 
he  had  descended,  and  that,  having  procured  a  ladder 
from  the  farm-yard,  the}"  entered  a  back  window,  at  a 
distance  of  about  forty  feet  from  the  ground  in  the  hope 
of  securing  his  person — that  they  came  in  contact  with 
some  powerful  man  in  the  dark,  who  disappeared  from 
among  them — but  by  what  means  he  had  conti-ived  to 
escape  they  could  not  guess.  This  was  the  substance 
of  all  they  knew  or  understood  upon  the  subject. 

The  whole  house  was  immediately  and  thoroughly 
searched,  and  no  trace  of  him  could  be  found  until  they 
came  to  the  sky-light,  which  was  discovered  to  be  open 
— wrested  off  the  hinges — and  lying  on  the  roof  at  a 
distance  of  two  or  three  yards  from  its  place. 

It  soon  became   evident  that  the  Rapparee  and  his 


WILLY    REILLV.  61 

party  had  taken  tlie  alarm,  lii  an  instant  those  who 
were  outside,  waiting  to  pounce  upon  them  in  the  mo- 
ment of  attack,  got  orders  to  scour  the  neighborhood, 
and  if  possible  to  secure  the  Rapparee  at  every 
risk  ;  and  as  an  inducement  the  squire  himself  offered 
to  pay  tlie  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  any  one  who 
should  bring  him  to  Corbo  Castle,  which  was  the  name 
of  his  residence.  This  was  accordingly  attempted,  the 
country  far  and  wide  was  searched,  pursuit  given  in 
every  direction,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  only  was 
the  failure  complete,  but,  what  was  still  more  unac- 
countable and  mysterious,  no  single  mark  or  trace  of 
them  could  be  found.  This  escape,  however,  did  not 
much  surprise  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  at  large, 
as  it  was  only  in  keeping  with  many  of  a  far  more  dif- 
ficult character  which  the  Rapparee  had  often  effected. 
The  only  cause  to  which  it  could  be  ascribed  was  the 
supposed  fact  of  his  having  taken  such  admirable  pre- 
cautions against  surprise  as  enabled  his  gang  to  disap- 
pear upon  a  preconcerted  plan,  the  moment  the  friendly 
guards  were  discovered,  whilst  he  himself  dcu^ingly 
attempted  to  secure  the  squire's  cash. 

Whether  the  supposition  was  right  or  wrong  will  ap- 
pear subsequently  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  we  may  add 
here,  that  the  event  in  question,  and  the  disappearance 
of  the  burglars,  was  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  our  lov- 
ers, for  such  they  were  in  the  tenderest  and  most  de- 
voted sense  of  that  strange   and  ungovernable  passion. 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  squire  was  so  complete- 
ly exhausted  by  the  consequences  of  watching,  anxiety, 
and  want  of  rest,  that  he  felt  himself  overcome  by  sleep, 
and  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed.  Before  he  went,  how- 
ever, he  made  Reilly  promise  that  he  would  not  go  un- 
til he  had  breakfasted,  then  shook  him  cordially  by  the 
hand,  thanked  him  again  and  again  for  the  deep  and 
important  obligations  he  had  imposed  upon  him  and 
his  child,  and  concluded  by  giving  him  a  general  invi- 


62  WILLY    REILLY. 

tation  to  his  house,  the  doors  of  which,  he  said,  as  well 
as  the  heart  of  its  owner,  should  be  ever  ready  to 
receive  him. 

^'  As  for  Helen,  here,"  said  he,  "  I  leave  her  to  thank 
■  3^ou  herself,  which  I  am  sure  she  will  do  in  a  manner 
becoming  her  before  you  go."  She  then  kissed  him 
tenderly,  and  retired  to  rest. 

At  breakfast,  Reilly  and  Miss  Folliard  were  of  course 
alone,  if  we  may  say  so.  Want  of  rest  and  apprehension 
had  given  a  cast  of  paleness  to  her  features,  that,  so  far 
from  diminishing,  only  added  a  new  and  tenderer  char- 
acter to  her  beauty.  Reilly  observed  the  exquisite 
loveliness  of  her  hand  as  she  poured  out  the  tea  ;  and 
when  he  remembered  the  gentle  but  significant  pressure 
which  it  had  given  to  his  more  than  once  or  twice,  on 
the  preceding  night,  he  felt  as  if  he  experienced  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  her  fate — as  if  their  destinies  were  to 
be  united — as  if  his  glowing  spirit  could  enfold  hers, 
and  mino-le  with  it  forever.  The  love  he  felt  for  her 
pervaded  and  softened  his  whole  being  with  such  a  feel- 
ing of  tenderness,  timidity,  and  ecstasy,  that  his  voice, 
always  manly  and  firm,  now  became  tremulous  in  its 
tones ;  such,  in  truth,  as  is  always  occasioned  by  a  full 
and  overflowing  heart  when  it  trembles  at  the  very  op- 
portunity of  pouring  forth  the  first  avowal  of  its  affec- 
tion. 

'^Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  and  with 
some  confusion,  "  do  3'ou  believe  in  Fate  ?  " 

The  question  appeared  to  take  her  somewhat  by  sur- 
prise, if  one  could  judge  by  the  look  she  bestowed  upon 
him  with  her  dark  flashing  eyes. 

''  In  Fate,  Mr.  Reilly^  Tliis  is  a  subject,  I  fear,  too 
deep  for  a  girl  like  me.    I  believe  in  Providence." 

^'  All  this  mornino-  I  have  been  thinkino^  on  the  sub- 
ject.  Should  it  be  Fate  that  brought  me  to  the  rescue 
of  your  father  last  night,  I  cannot  but  feel  glad  of  it ; 
but  though  it  be  a  Fate  that  has  preserved  him — and  I 


WILLY    REILLY.  63 

thank  Almighty  God  for  it — yet  it  is  one  that  I  fear 
has  destroyed  my  happiness." 

^'  Destroyed  your  happiness,  Mr.  Reilly  !  Why,  how 
could  the  service  you  rendered  papa  last  night  have 
such  an  eifect "?  " 

"I  will  be  candid  and  tell  you,  Miss  Folliard.  I 
know  that  what  I  am  about  to  say  will  offend  you — it 
was  by  making"  me  acquainted  with  his  daughter,  and 
by  bringing  me  nnder  the  influence  of  beauty  which 
has  unmanned — distracted  me — beauty  which  I  could 
not  resist — which  has  overcome  me — subdued  me — and 
which,  because  it  is  beyond  my  reach  and  my  deserts, 
-will  occasion  me  an  unhappy  life — how  long  soever  that 
life  may  last." 

^^  Mr.  Reilly,"  exclaimed  the  Cohen  Bawn,^^  this — this 
— is — I  am  quite  unprepared  for — I  mean — to  hear  that 
such  noble  and  generous  conduct  to  my  father  should 
end  in  this.  But  it  cannot  be.  Nay,  I  will  not  pretend 
to  misunderstand  you.  After  the  service  you  have  ren- 
dered to  him  and  to  myself,  it  would  be  uncandid  in  me 
and  unworthy  of  you  to  conceal  the  distress  which  your 
words  have  caused  me." 

^^  I  am  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  speak  reasonably 
and  calmly,"  replied  Reilly,  ^'but  I  cannot  regret  that 
I  have  unconsciously  sacrificed  my  happiness,  when 
that  sacrifice  has  saved  you  from  distress  and  grief  and 
sorrow.  Now  that  I  know  you,  I  would  offer — lay 
down — my  life;  if  the  sacrifice  could  save  yours  from 
one  moment's  care.  I  have  often  heard  of  w^hat  love — 
love  in  its  highest  and  noblest  sense — is  able  to  do  and 
to  suffer  for  the  good  and  happiness  of  its  object ;  but 
now  I  know  it." 

She  spoke  not,  or  rather  she  was  unable  to  speak  ; 
but  as  she  pulled  out  her  snow-white  handkerchief, 
Reilly  could  observe  the  extraordinary  tremor  of  her 
hands  ;  the  face,  too,  was  deadly  pale. 

''I  am  not  making  love  to  you.  Miss  Folliard/'  he 


64  WILLY    REILLY. 

added.  "  No,  my  religion,  my  position  in  life,  a  sense 
of  my  own  unworthiness,  would  prevent  that ;  but  I 
could  not  rest  unless  you  knew  that  there  is  one  heart 
which,  in  the  midst  of  unhappiness  and  despair,  can 
'  understand,  appreciate,  and  love  you.  I  urge  no 
y  claim.     I  am  without  hope." 

The  fair  girl  (Coleen  Bawn)  could  not  restrain  her 
tears,  but  wept — yes,  she  wept.  "  I  was  not  prepared 
for  this,"  she  replied.  ''  I  did  not  think  that  so  short  an 
acquaintance  could  have — 0, 1  know  not  what  to  say — ■ 
nor  how  to  act.  My  father's  prejudices.  You  are  a 
CaAolic." 

''  And  will  die  one,  Miss  Folliard." 

"But  why  should  you  be  unhappy?  You  do  not 
deserve  to  be  so." 

'*  That  is  precisely  what  made  me  ask  you  just  now 
if  you  believed  in  y^^e." 

"  O,  I  know  not.  I  cannot  answer  such  a  question  ; 
but  why  should  you  be  unhappy,  with  your  brave, 
generous,  and  noble  heart?  Surely,  surely,  you  do 
not  deserve  it." 

"  I  said  before,  that  I  have  no  hope.  Miss  Folliard. 
I  shall  carry  with  me  my  love  of  you  through  life  ;  it 
is  my  first,  and  I  feel  it  will  be  my  last — it  will  be  the 
melancholy  light  that  will  burn  in  the  sepulchre  of 
my  heart  to  show  your  image  there.  And  now,  Miss 
Folliard,  I  will  bid  you  farewell.  Your  father  has 
i proffered  me  hospitality,  but  I  have  not  strength  nor 
resolution  to  accept  of  it.  You  now  know  my  secret 
'  — a  hopeless  passion." 

'^  Reilly,"  she  replied,  weeping  bitterly, ''  our  ac- 
quaintancC'  has  been  short — we  have  not  seen  much  of 
each  other  ;  yet  I  will  not  deny  that  I  believe  in  you 
to  be  all  any  female  heart  could — pardon  me,  I  am 
without  experience — I  know  not  much  of  the  world. 
You  have  travelled,  papa  told  me  last  night — I  do  not 
wish  that  you  should  be  unhai)py,  and  least  of  all,  that 


WILLY   REILLY.  65 

I,  wno  owe  you  so  much,  should  be  the  occasion  of  it. 
No ;  you  talk  of  a  hopeless  passion.  I  know  what  I 
ought  to  say — but  to  tlie  preserver  of  my  fathers  life, 
and,  probably,  my  own  honor,  I  would  say,  be  not — But 
why  should  love  be  separated  from  trtith  ?  "  she  said. 
^'No,  Reilly,  be  not  hopeless." 

'^  O,"  rephed  Reilly,  who  had  gone  over  near  her, 
''  but  my  soul  will  not  be  satisfied  without  a  stronger 
affirmation.  This  moment  is  the  great  crisis  of  my  life 
and  happiness.  I  love  you  beyond  all  the  power  of 
language  or  expression.  You  tremble,  dear  Miss  Fol- 
liard,  and  you  weep ;  let  me  wipe  those  precious  tears 
away.     0  would  to  God  that  3^ou  loved  me  !  " 

He  causrht  her  hand — it  was  not  withdrawn — he 
pressed  it  as  he  had  done  the  evening  before.  The  pres- 
sure was  returned — his  voice  melted  into  tenderness  that 
was  contao-ious  and  irresistible.  "Say,  dearest  Helen, 
star  of  my  life  and  of  my  fate,  0,  only  say  that  I  am  not 
indifferent  to  you." 

They  were  both  standing  near  the  chimney-piece  as 
he  spoke — his  arm  glided  gently  and  tremblingly  about 
her  waist.  "  Only  say,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  am  not 
indifferent  to  you." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  replied,  ''  you  are  not  indifferent  to 
me." 

''One  admission  more,  my  dearest  life,  and  I  am  happy 
forever.  You  love  me  ?  say  it,  dearest,  say  it — or  stay, 
whisper  it — whisper  it — you  love  me '? " 

''  I  do^''  she  whispered,  in  a  burst  of  tears  ;  an  ac- 
knowledgment which  was  repaid  by  the  first  kiss  of  true 
love  that  ever  was  impressed  on  her  virgin  lips. 


66  WILLY   REILLY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    SAPIENT    PROJECT    FOR    OUR    HERO's    CONVERSION HIS 

RIVAL  MAKES  HIS  APPEARANCE,  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

We  wi]l  not  attempt  to  describe  the  tumult  of  delight 
which  agitated  Reilly's  heart  on  his   way  home,  after 
this  tender  interview  with  the  most  celebrated  Irish 
beauty  of  that  period.     The  term  Coleen  Baivn,  in  na- 
tive Irish,  has  two  meanings,  both  of  which  were  justly 
applied  to  her,  and  met  in  her  person.     It  signifies /r/Zr 
locks,  or,  as  it  may  be  pronounced,  fair  girl,  and  in  either 
sense  is  peculiarly  applicable  to  a  blonde  beaut}^,  whicli 
she  was.      The  name  of  Coleen  Baivn  was  applied  to  her 
by  the  populace,  whose  talent  for  finding  outand  bestow- 
ing epithets  indicative  either  of  personal  beauty  or  de- 
formity, or  of  the  qualities  of  the  mind  or  character,  be 
they  good  or  evil,  is,  in  Ireland,    singularly  felicitous. 
In  the  higher  ranks,  however,  she  was  known  as  '^the 
Lily  of  the  Plains  of  Boyle,"  and  as  such  she  was  toast- 
ed by  all  parties,  not  only  in  her  own  native   counrty, 
but  througliout  Ireland,  and  at  the  vice-regal  entertain- 
ments in  the  Castle  of  Dublin.     At  the  time  of  whicli  we 
write,  the  penal  laws  were  in  operation  againstthe  Romnn 
Catholic  population  of  the  country,  and  her  father,  r 
good-hearted  man  by  nature,  was  wordy  and  violen.  , 
by   prejudice,  and  3^et  secretly  kind  and  friendly  to 
many  of  that  unhappy  creed,  though  by  no  means  to 
all.     It  was  well  known,    however,  that  in  everything 
that  was  generous  and  good  in  his  character,  or  in  the 
discharge  of  his  public  duties  as  a  magistrate,  he  was 
chiefly  influenced  by  the  benevolent  and  liberal  princi- 
ples of  his  daughter,  wlio   was  a  general  advocate  for 
the  oppressed,  and  to  whom,  moreover,  he  could  deny 


WILLY    REILLY.  fi? 

nothing.  This  accounted  for  lier  popuLirity,  as  it  does 
for  the  extraordinary  veneration  and  affection  with 
wliich  her  name  and  misfortunes  are  mentioned  down 
to  the  present  day.  The  worst  point  in  her  father's 
chara,cter  was  that  he  could  never  be  prevailed  on  to  for- 
give an  injury,  or,  at  least,  any  act  that  he  conceiv^ed  to 
be  such  ;  a  weakness  or  a  vice  which  was  the  means  of 
all  of  his  angelic  and  lovely  daughter's  calamities. 

Reilly,  though  full  of  fervor  and  enthusiasm,  was 
yet  by  no  means  deficient  in  strong  sense.  On  his  way 
home  he  be^ranto  ask  himself  in  what  this  overwhelm- 
ing  passion  for  Coleen  Baivn  must  end.  His  religion, 
he  was  well  aware,  placed  an  impassable  gulf  between 
them.  Was  it  generous  or  honorable  in  him  to  abuse 
the  confidence  and  hospitality  of  her  father,  by  engag- 
ing" the  affections  of  a  dauo-hter  on  whose  welfare  Jiis 
whole  happiness  was  placed,  and  to  whom,  moreover,  he 
could  not,  without  committing  an  act  of  apostasy  that  he 
abhorred,  ever  be  united  as  a  husband  ?  Reason  and 
prudence,  moreover,  suggested  to  him  the  danger  of  his 
position,  as  well  as  the  ungenerous  nature  of  his  con- 
duct to  the  grateful  and  trustino*  father.  But  away  with 
reason  and  prudence-7-away  with  everything  but  love. 
The  rapture  of  his  heart  triumphed  over  every  argument; 
and  come  weal  or  woe,  he  resolved  to  win  the  far- 
famed  "  Star  of  Connaught."  another  epithet  which  she 
derived  from  her  wonderful  and  extraordinary  beauty. 

On  approaching  his  own  house,  he  met  a  woman, 
named  Mary  Mahon,  whose  character  of  a  fortune-tell- 
er was  extraordinary  in  the  country,  and  whose  predic- 
tions, come  from  what  source  they  might,  had  gained 
her  a  reputation  which  filled  the  common  mind  with  awe 
and  fear. 

"  Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  ''  what  news  from  futurity  ? 
And,  by  the  way,  where  is  futurity  ?  because  if  you 
don't  know,"  he  proceeded,  laughing,  "  I  think  I  could 
tell  vou." 


68  WILLY    REILLY. 

'^  Well,"  replied  Mary,  "  let  me  hear  it.  Where  is 
it,  Mr.  Reilly  ?"     ^ 

^' Why,"  he  replied,  '^just  at  the  point  of  your  own 
nose,  Mary,  and  you  must  admit  it  is  not  a  very  long 
one  ;  pure  Milesian,  Mary  ;  a  good  deal  of  the  saddle  in 
its  shape." 

The  woman  stood  and  looked  at  him  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

''  My  nose  may  be  short,"  she  replied,  "  but  shorter 
will  be  the  course  of  your  happiness." 

"  Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  think,  as  regards  my  hap- 
piness, that  you  know  as  little  of  it  as  I  do  myself 
If  you  tell  me  anything  that  has  passed,  I  my  give 
you  some  credit  for  the  future,  but  not  otherwise." 

^*  Do  you  wish  to  have  your  fortune  tould  then,"  she 
said,  ''upon  them  terms  I  " 

''Come,  then,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  What  has  hap- 
pened to  me,  for  instance,  within  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  !  " 

"  That  has  happened  you  within  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  that  will  make  you  comb  a  white  head  before 
your  time.  Your  hair,  now,  Willy  Reilly,  is  as  black 
and  as  glossy  as  the  wing  of  a  raven — sixteen  years 
won't  pass  till  it'll  be  as  white  as  snow." 

*'  Why,  what  has  happened  me,  Mary  I  " 

"  I  needn't  tell  you — you  know  it.  A  proud  neart, 
and  a  joyful  heart,  and  a  lovin'  heart,  you  carry  now, 
but  it  will  be  a  broken  heart  before  long." 

"  Why,  Mary,  this  is  an  evil  prophecy  ;  have  you 
nothing  good  to  foretell  ?  " 

"  If  it's  a  satisfaction  for  you  to  know,  I  will  tell  you : 
her  love  for  you  is  as  strong  and  stronger  than  death  it- 
self; and  it  is  death,  Willy  Reilly,  that  will  unite  you 
both  at  last." 

Reilly  started,  and  after  a  pause,  in  which  he  took  it 
for  granted  that  Mary  spoke  merely  from  one  of  those 
shrewd   conjectures  which  practised   impostors  are  so 


WILLY    REILLY.  61) 

frequently  in  the  habit  of  hazarding,  replied,  ^'  That 
won't  do,  Mary ;  you  liave  told  me  nothing  yet  that  has 
happened  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  I  deny 
the  truth  of  what  you  say." 

''  I  won't  be  long  so,  then,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  you  saved  the 
life  of  the  old  half- mad  squire  of  Corbo.  Yes,  you 
saved  his  life,  and  you  have  taken  his  daughter's,  for 
indeed  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  die  at  wanst  than  to 
suffer  what  will  happen  to  you  and  her." 

'^  Why,  what  is  to  happen  ?  " 

"  You'll  know  it  too  soon,"  she  replied,  '^  and  there's 
no  use  in  making  you  unhappy.  Good-by,  Mr.  Reilly  ; 
if  you  take  a  friend's  advice  you'll  give  her  up :  think 
no  more  of  her.  It  may  cost  you  an  aching  heart  to  do 
so,  but  by  doin'  it  you  may  save  her  from  a  great  deal 
of  sorrow,  and  both  of  you  from  an  early  grave." 

Reilly,  though  a  young  man  of  strong  reason  in  the 
ordinary  affairs  of  life,  and  of  a  highly  cultivated  intel- 
lect besides,  yet  felt  himself  influenced  by  the  gloomy 
forebodings  of  this  notorious  woman.  It  is  true,  he  saw, 
b}"  the  force  of  his  own  sagacity,  that  she  had  uttered 
nothing  which  any  person  acquainted  with  the  relative 
position  of  himself  and  Coleen  Bawn^  and  the  political- 
circumstances  of  the  country,  might  not  have  inferred 
as  a  natural  and  probable  consequence.  In  fact,  he  had, 
on  his  way  home,  arrived  at  nearly  the  same  conclusion. 
Marriage,  as  the  laws  of  the  country  then  stood,  was 
out  of  the  question,  and  could  not  be  legitimately  effect- 
ed. What,  then,  must  the  consequence  of  this  irresist- 
ible but  ill-fated  passion  be'?  An  elopement  to  the 
Continent  would  not  only  be  difficult,  but  dangerous,  if 
not  altogether  impossible.  It  was  obviously  evident 
that  Mary  Mahon  had  drawn  her  predictions  from  the 
same  circumstances  which  led  himself  to  similar  conclu- 
sions :  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  he  felt  that  her 
words  had  thrown  a  foreshadowing  of  calamity  and 
sorrow  over  his   spirit,    and  he  passed   up  to  his  own 


70  WILLY    REILLY. 

house  in  deep  gloom  and  heaviness  of  heart.  It  is  true 
he  remembered  that  this  same  Mary  Mahon  belonged 
to  a  family  that  had  been  inimical  to  his  house.  She 
was  a  woman  who  had,  in  her  early  life,  been  degraded 
by  crime,  the  remembrance  of  which  had  been  by  no 
means  forgotten.  She  was,  besides,  aunt  to  the  Red 
Rapparee,  and  he  attributed  much  of  her  dark  and  ill- 
boding  prophecy  to  a  hostile  and  malignant  spirit. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  probably  about  the 
same  hour,  the  old  squire,  having  recruited  himself  by 
sleep,  and  feeling  refreshed  and  invigorated,  sent  for 
his  daughter  to  sit  with  him,  as  was  her  wont ;  for  in- 
deed, as  the  reader  may  now  fully  understand,  his  hap- 
piness altogether  depended  upon  her  society,  and  those 
tender  attentions  to  him  which  constituted  the  chief  sol- 
ace of  his  life, 

''  Well,  my  girl,"  said  he,  when  she  entered  the  din- 
ing-room, for  he  seldom  left  it  unless  when  they  had 
company,  "  well  darling,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Mr. 
Mahon — pooh  ! — no — O'Reilly — he  who  saved  my  life, 
and,  probably,  was  the  means  of  rescuing  you  from 
worse  than  death  I  Isn't  he  a  fine— a  noble  young 
fellow  ?  " 

^'  Indeed,  I  think  so,  papa ;  he  appears  to  be  a  perfect 
gentleman." 

^'. Hang  perfect  gentlemen,  Helen!  they  are  some 
of  them,  the  most  contemptible  whelps  upon  earth. 
Hang  me,  but  any  fellow  with  a  long  bodied  coat,  tight- 
kneed  breeches,  or  stockings  and  pantaloons,  with  a 
watch  in  each  fob,  and  a  frizzled  wig,  is  considered  a 
perfect  gentleman — a  perfect  puppy,  Helen,  an  accom- 
plished trifle.  Reilly,  however,  is  none  of  these,  for  he 
is  not  only  a  perfect  gentleman,  but  a  brave  man,  that 
would  not  hesitate  to  risk  his  life  in  order  to  save  that 
of  a  fellow-creature  even  although  he  is  a  Papist,  and 
that  fellow-creature  aProtestant." 

"Well,  then,  papa,  1  grant  you,"  she  replied,  with  a 


WILLY    REILLY.  71 

smile,  which  our  readers  will  understand — ^^  I  grant  you 
that  he  is  a — ahem  ! — all  you  say." 

*'  What  a  pity,  Helen,  that  he  is  a  Papist!" 

**  AVliy  so,  papaf 

'•  Because,  if  he  Was  a  stanch  Protestant,  by  the  great 

deliverer  that  saved  us  from  brass  money,   wooden 

shoes,  and  so  forth,  I'd  marry  you   and  him   together. 

I'll  tell  you  what,  Helen,  by  the  memory  of  Schomberg, 

I  have  a  project,  and  it  is  ^'ou  that  must  work  it  out." 

^'  Well,  papa,"  asked  his  daughter,  putting  the  question 
with  a  smile  and  a  blush,  "  pray  what  is  this  specula- 
tion I" 

'<  Why,  the  fact  is,  I'll  put  him  into  your  hands  to 
convert  him — make  him  a  stanch  Protestant,  and  take 
him  for  your  pains.  Accomplish  this,  and  let  long- 
legged,  knock-kneed  Whitecraft,  and  his  thirty  thou- 
sand a  year,  go  and  bite  some  other  fool  as  he  bit  me 
in  *Hop-and-go-constant.'" 

"  What  are  thirty  thousand  a  year,  papa,  when  you 
know  that  they  could  not  secure  me  happiness  with 
such  a  wretch  t  Such  a  union,  sir,  could  not  be,  can- 
not be,  must  not  be,  and  I  will  add,  whilst  I  am  in  the 
possession  of  will  and  reason,  shall  not  be." 

^'  Well,  Helen,"  said  her  father,  ^'  if  you  are  obstinate, 
so  am  I ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  never  have  to  fight  for  it. 
We  must  have  Reilly  here,  and  you  must  endeavor  to 
convert  him  from  Popery.  If  you  succeed,  I'll  give 
long- shanks  his  nunc  dimittis,  and  send  him  home  on  a 
trot." 

"  Papa,"  she  replied,  ^'  this  will  be  useless — it  will  be 
ruin — I  know  Reilly." 

''  The  devil  you  do  !  When,  may  I  ask,  did  you  be- 
come acquainted  !" 

'^  I  mean,"  she  replied,  blushing,  *^that  I  have  seen 
enough  of  him,  during  his  stay  here,  to  feel  satisfied 
that  no  earthly  persuasion,  no  argument,  could  induce 
him,  at  this  moment,  especially,  to  change  his  religion. 


72  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

And,  sir,  I  will  add  myself — yes,  I  will  say  for  myself, 
dear  papa,  and  for  Reilly,  too — that  if  from  any  unbe- 
coming motive,  if  for  the  sake  of  love  itself,  I  felt  sat- 
isfied that  he  could  give  up  and  abandon  liis  religion,  I 
would  despise  him.  I  should  feel  at  once  that  his  heart 
was  hollow,  and  that  he  was  unworthy  either  of  my 
love  or  my  respect." 

"  Well,  by  the  great  Boyne,  Helen,  you  have  knock- 
ed my  intellects  up.  I  hope  in  God  you  have  no  Papist 
predilections,  girl.  However,  it's  only  fair  to  give 
Reilly  a  trial — long-legs  is  to  dine  with  us  the  day  after 
to-morrow — now  1  will  ask  Reilly  to  meet  him  here — 
perhaps  if  I  get  an  opportunity,  I  will  sound  liim  on 
the  subject  myself — or  perhaps  you  will.  Will  you 
promise  to  make  the  attempt !  I'll  take  care  that  you 
and  he  shall  have  an  opportunity." 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  shall  certainly  mention  the  subject 
to  him." 

^'  By  the  soul  of  Schomberg,  Helen,  if  you  do  you'll 
convert  him." 

Helen  was  about  to  make  some  good-natured  reply, 
when  the  noise  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  at  the  hall 
door,  and  her  father  going  to  the  window,  asked — 

^^  What  noise  is  that  I  A  carriage  !  Who  can  it  be  I 
Whitecraft,  by  the  Boyne  !     Well,  it  can't  be  helped." 

''  I  will  leave  you,  papa,"  slie  said.  ''  I  do  not  wish 
to  see  this  unfeeling  and  repulsive  man,  unless  when  it 
is  unavoidable  and  in  your  presence." 

She  then  withdrew. 

Before  we  introduce  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  we  must 
beg  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  the  residence  of 
that  worthy  gentleman,  which  was  not  more  than  three 
miles  from  that  of  Reilly.  Sir  Robert  had  large  estates 
and  a  sumptuous  residence  in  Ireland,  as  well  as  in  Eng- 
land, and  had  made  the  former  principally  his  place  of 
abode  since  he  became  enamored  of  the  celebrated 
Cohen  Baicn.      On  the  occasion  in  question,  he  was 


WILLY    RKILLY.  73 

Vvalking  about  througli  Lis  frrounds,  when  a  female  ap- 
proached him,  whom  we  beg'  the  reader  to  recognize  as 
Mary  Malion.  This  mischievous  woman,  implacable, 
and  without  principle,  had,  with  the  utmost  secrecy, 
served  Sir  Robert  and  many  others,  in  a  capacity  dis- 
creditable alike  to  virtue  and  her  sex,  by  luring  the 
weak  or  tlVe* innocent  within  their  toils. 

'*  Well,  Mary,"  said  he,  '^  what  news  in  the  country  f 
You,  who  are  always  on  the  move,  should  know\" 

''No  very  good  new^s  for  you,  Sir  Robert,"  she  replied. 

''  How  is  that,  Mary  !  " 

"  Why,  sir,  Willy  Reilly,  the  famous  Willy  Reilly, 
has  got  a  footing  in  the  house  ot  old  Squire  Folliard." 

*'  And  how  can  that  be  bad  news  to  me,  Mary  !  " 

^'  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  cunning  leer; 
"but  this  I  know,  that  they  had  a  love  scene  together 
this  very  morning,  and  that  he-kissed  her  very  sweetly 
near  the  chimley-piece." 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  did  not  get  into  a  rage ;  he 
neither  cursed  nor  swore,  nor  even  looked  angry ;  but 
he  gave*  a  peculiar  smile,  which  should  be  seen  in  order 
to  be  understood.  ''  Where  is  your  nephew  now?  "he 
asked ;  and  as  he  did  so  he  began  to  whistle. 

"  Have  you  another  job  for  him?"  she  inquired,  in 
her  turn,  with  a  peculiar  meaning.  "  Whenever  the 
aunt  fails  by  fair  play,  her  nephew  tries  it  -with  foul." 

''  Well,  and  have  not  I  often  saved  his  neck,  as  well 
by  my  influence,  as  by  allowing  him  to  take  shelter 
under  my  roof  whenever  he  w^as  hard  pressed  !  " 

"  I  know  that,  your  honor ;  and  hasn't  he  and  I  often 
sarved  you,  on  the  other  hand!" 

"  I  grant  it,  Molly ;  but  that  is  a  matter  known  only 
to  ourselves.  You  know  I  have  the  reputation  of  be- 
ing* verv  correct  and  virtuous." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  said  Molly,  *'  with  most  people, 
but  not  wdth  all.  You  do  every  thing  snug  and  close, 
and  on  the  cheapest  terms." 


74.  WILLY    REILLY. 

^*  Well,  Molly,  you  know,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
one  good  turn  deserves  another.  Where  is  your 
nephew  now,  I  ask  again." 

*'  Why,  then,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's  more  than  ] 
know,  at  the  present  speaking." 

"Follow  me,    then,"  replied  the  wily  baronet;   "I 
,wish  you  to    see  him;  he  is    now  concealed  in    my 
house  ;  but,  first,  ^iiark  me,  I  don't  believe   a  word  of 
what  you  have  just  repeated." 

"It's  as  true  as  Gospel  for  all  that,"  she  replied; 
"  and  if  you  wish  to  hear  hovV  I  found  it  out  I'll  tell 
you." 

"  Well,"  said  the  baronet,  calmly,  "let  us  hear  it." 

"  You  must  know,"  she  proceeded,  "that  I  have  acou- 
sin,  one  Betty  Beatty,  who  is  a  housemaid  in  the  squire's. 
Now,  this  same  Betty  Beatty  was  in  the  back  parlor — 
for  the  squire  always  dines  in  the  front — and  from  a 
kind  of  natural  curiosity  she's  afflicted  with,*  she  puts 
her  ear  to  the  keyhole,  and  afterwards  her  eye.  I  hap- 
pened to  be  at  the  squire's,  at  the  time,  and,  as  blood  is 
thicker  than  wather,  and  as  she  knew  1  was  a  friend  of 
yours,  she  told  me  what  she  had  both  heard  and  seen, 
what  they  said,  and  how  he  kissed  her."^ 

Sir  Robert  seemed  very  calm,  and  merely  said, 
"  Follow  me  into  the  house  ;  "  which  she  accordingly 
did,  and  remained  in  consultation  with  him  and  the  Red 
Rapparee  for  nearly  an  hour,  ^fter  which  Sir  Robert 
ordered  his  carriage  and  went  to  pay  a  visit,  as  we 
have  seen,  at  Corbo  Castle. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  on  entering  the-  parlor,  shook 
hands  as  a  matter  of  course  with  the  squire.  At  tliis 
particular  crisis,  the  vehement,  but  whimsical  old  man, 
whose  mind  was  now  full  of  another  pro^ject  witli  ref- 
erence to  his  daughter,  experienced  no  grent  oi-atifica- 
tion  from  this  visit,  and  as  the  baronet  shook  hands 
with  him  he  exclaimed  somewhat  testily — 

"  D — n  it,  Sir  Robert,  why  don't  you  shake  hands 


WILLY    KEILLY. 


like  a  man?  You  put  that  long*  yellow  jmw  of  yours, 
all  skin  and  bones,  into  a  man's  hand,  and  there  you 
let  it  lie.  But,  no  matter,  every  one  to  his  nature.  Be 
ated,    and    tell   me    what   news.      Are   the    Papists 


iuietr 


There  is  little  news  stirring,  sir ;  at  least  if  there  be, 
it  does  not  come  my  way,  with  the  exception  of  this 
report  about  yourself,  which  I  hope  is  not  true ;  that 
there  was  an  attempt  made  on  your  life  yesterday 
evening  ?  " 

^'  What  signifies  that,  my  dear  fellow,  when  your 
wig  is  out  of  balance ;  it's  a  little  to  the  one  side,  like 
the  ear  of  an  empty  jug,  as  they  say." 

<'  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  '*  the  fact  is,  that  I 
felt — hum  ! — hum  !  so  much — so  much — a — anxiety — 
hum  ! — to  see  you  and — a — a — to  know  all  about  it — 
that — a — I  did'nt  take  time  to — a — look  to  my  dress. 
And,  besides,  as  I — hum  ! — expect  to  have — a — the 
pleasureof  an  interview  with  Miss  Folliard— a — hum  ! — 
jiow  that  I  am  here — I  feel  anxious  to  appear  to  the  best 
advantage — a — hum  !  " 

Whilst  speaking,  he  proceeded  with  the  re-adjust- 
ment of  his  toilet  at  the  large  mirror,  an  operation 
which  appeared  to  constitute  the  great  object  on  which 
his  mindnvas  engaged,  the  affair  of  the  squire's  life  or 
death  coming  in  only  parenthetically,  or  as  a  considera- 
tion of  minor  importance. 

In  height  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  fully  six  feet 
two ;  but  being  extremely  thin  and  lank,  and  to  all 
appearance  utterly  devoid  of  substance,  and  of  every- 
thing like  proportion,  he  appeared  much  taller  than 
even  nature  had  made  him.  His  forehead  was  low, 
and  its  whole  character  felonious  ;  his  eyes  were  small, 
deep-set,  and  cunning;  his  nose  was  hooked;  his 
mouth  was  wide,  but  his  lips  thin  to  a  miracle,  and 
such  as  always  are  to  be  found  under  the  nose  of  a 
miser  ;  as  for  chin,  we  could  not  conscientiously  allow 


76  WILLY    REILLY. 

him  any ;  his  under  lip  sloped  off  until  it  met  the  throat 
with  a  curve  not  larger^ than  that  of  an  oyster,  which, 
when  open  to  the  tide,  his  mouth  very  much  re- 
sembled. As  for  his  neck,  it  was  so  long  that  no  por- 
tion of  dress,  at  that  time  discovered,  was  capable  of 
covering  more  than  one-third  of  it ;  so  that  there  were 
always  two  parts  but  of  three  left  stark  naked  and 
^lelplessly  exposed  to  the  elements.  Whenever  he 
smiled  he  looked  as  about  to  weep.  As  the  squire  said, 
he  was  dreadfuU}^  round-shouldered,  had  dangling  arms 
that  kept  flapping  about  him  as  if  they  were  moved  by 
some  machinery  that  had  gone  out  of  order,  was  close- 
kneed,  had  the  true  telescopic  leg,  and  feet  that  brought 
a  very  large  portion  of  him  into  the  closest  possible 
contact  with  the  earth. 

**  Are  3^ou  succeeding.  Sir  Robert  F "  inquired  the  old 
man,  sarcastically,  "  because  if  you  arC;  I  swear  you're 
achieving  wonders,  considering  the  sliglit  materials 
you  have  to  work  upon." 

*^  Ah  !  sir,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  1  perceive  you 
are  in  one  of  your  biting  humors  to-day." 

''  Biting  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  '^  egad,  it's  very  well 
for  most  of  your  acquaintances  that  ^^ou're  free  from 
hydrophobia  :  if  you  were  not,  Fd  liave  died  pleasant- 
ly between  two  feather  beds,  leaving  my-  child  an 
orphan  long  before  this." 

"  O  ay,  you  alkide  to  the  affair  of  Hop-and-go-con- 
stant '  and  '  Pat  the  Spanker  ' ;  but  you  know,  my  dear 
sir,  I  gave  you  heavy  boot ;  "  and  as  he  spoke,  he 
pulled  up  the  lapels  of  his  coat,  and  glanced  complacently 
at  the  profile  of  his  face  and  person  in  the  glass. 

'^  Pray,  is  Miss  Folliard  at  home,  sir  ?" 

*'  Again  I'm  forgotten,"  thought  the  squire.  ''  Ah  ! 
what  an  affectionate  son-in-law  he'd  make  !  What  a  ten- 
der husband  for  Helen  !  Why,  hang  the  fellow,  he  has 
a  heart  for  nobody  but  himself — She  is  at  home,  Sir 
Robert,  but  the  truth  is,  I  don't  think  it  would  become 


WILLY    REILLY.  77 

me,  as  a  father  anxious  for  the  happiness  of  iiis  child, 
and  that  child  an  only  one,  to  sacrifice  her  happiness — 
the  happiness  of  her  wliole  life — -to  wealth  or  ambition. 
You  know  she  herself  entertains  a  strong  prejudice — no, 
that  is  not  the  word — " 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  that  is  the  word  ;  her  dis- 
taste to  me  is  a  prejudice,  and  nothing  else." 

*^  No,  Sir  Robert ;  it  is  not  the  word.  Antipathy  is 
the  word.  No,  I  tell  you  once  for  all,  that  I  will  not 
force  my  child." 

^'  This  change,  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  baronet, 
*'  is  somewhat  of  the  suddenest.  Has  anything  oc- 
curred on  my  part  to  occasion  it  ?  " 

''  Perhaps  I  may  have  other  views  for  her,  Sir 
Robert." 

^'  That  may  be,  but  is  such  conduct  either  fair  or 
honorable  towards  me,  Mr.  Folliard?  Have  I  got  a 
rival,  and  if  so,  who  is  he  I " 

'*  0  Lord  !     I  wouldn't  tell  you  that  for  the  world." 

•^  And  why  not  pray  1 " 

'^  Because,"  replied  the  squire,  "  if  you  found  out 
who  he  was,  you'd  be  hanged  for  cannibalism." 

''  I  really  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Folliard.  Ex- 
cuse me,  but  it  would  seem  to  me  that  something  lias 
put  you  into  no  very  agreeable  humor  to-day." 

•'  You  don't  understand  me  !  AVhy,  Sir  Robert,"  re- 
plied the  other,  ^'  I  know  you  so  well  that  if  you  lieard 
the  name  of  your  rival,  you  would  first  kill  him,  then 
powder  him,  and,  lastly,  eat  him.  You  are  such  a  ter- 
rible fellow  that  you  care  about  no  man's  life,  not  even 
about  mine." 

Now  it  was  to  this  very  point  that  the  calculating 
baronet  wished  to  bring  him.  The  old  man,  he  knew, 
was  whimsical,  capricious,  and  in  the  habit  of  taking 
all  his  stronor-est  and  most  endurino*  resolutions  from  sud- 
len  contrasts  produced  by  some  mistake  of  his  own,  or 
from  some  discovery  made  to  him  on  the  part  of  others. 


78  WILLY    REILLY. 

^'  As  to  your  life,  Mr.  FoUiard,  let  me  assure  you," 
replied  Sir  Robert,"  that  there  is  no  man  living  prizes  it, 
and,  let  me  add,  your  character,  too,  more  highly  than 
I  do  ;  but,  my  dear  sir,  your  life  was  never  in  danger/' 

"  Never  in  danger  !  what  do  you  mean,  Sir  Robert ! 
I  tell  you,  sir,  that  the  murdering  miscreant,  the  Pved 
Rapparee,  had  a  loaded  gun  levelled  at  me  last  evening 
after  dark." 

^'  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  am  well  aware  of 
it,  and  you  were  rescued  just  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"  True  enough,"  said  the  squire,  ''just  in  the  nick  of 
time  ;  by  that  glorious  young  fellow — a — a — yes — 
Reilly,  Willy  Reilly." 

"  This  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  is  a  very  accomplished  per- 
son, I  think." 

"A  gentleman,  Sir  Robert,  every  inch  of  him,  and 
as  handsome  and  fine-looking  a  young  fellow  as  ever 
I  laid  my  eyes  upon." 

*'  He  was  educated  on  the  Continent  by  the  Jesuits." 

''No  !"  replied  the  squire,  dreadfully  alarmed  at  this 
piece  of  information,"  he  was  not ;  by  the  great  Boyne, 
he  wasn't." 

This  mighty  asseveration,  however,  was  exceeding- 
ly feeble  in  moral  strength  and  energy,  for,  in  point 
of  fact,  it  came  out  of  the  squire's  lips  more  in  the  shape 
of  a  question  than  an  oath. 

"It  is  unquestionably  true,  sir,"  said  the  baronet; 
"  ask  himself,  and  he  will  admit  it." 

"Well,  and  granting  that  he  was,"  replied  the  squire, 
"what  else  could  he  do,  when  the  laws  would  not  per- 
mit of  his  being  educated  here  I  I  speak  not  against 
the  laws,  God  forbid,  but  of  his  individual  case.'^ 

"  We  are  travelling  from  the  point,  sir,"  returnee^ 
the  banmet.  "I  was  observing  tliat  Reilly  is  an  ac- 
complished person,  as,  indeed,  every  Jesuit  is.  Bo 
that  as  it  may,  I  again  beg  to  assure  you,  that  your  life 
stood  in  no  risk.." 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  79 

''  I  Joirt  understand  you,  Sir  Robert.  You're  a  per- 
fect oracle  :  by  the  great  Deliverer  from  Pope  .ind 
Popery,  wooden  shoes,  and  so  forth,  only  that  Reilly 
made  his  appearance  at  that  moment  I  was  a  dead  man." 

"  Not  the  slightest  danger,  Mr.  Folliard.  I  am  aware 
of  that,  and  of  the  whole  Jesuitical  plot  from  the  be- 
ginning ;  base,  ingenious,  but  diabolical  as  it  was." 

The  squire  rose  up  and  looked  at  him  for  a  minute 
without  speaking,  then  sat  down  again,  and  a  second 
time  was  partially  up,  but  resumed  his  seat 

''  A  plot,"  he  exclaimed,  ^^  a  plot.  Sir  Robert !  What 
plot !" 

'^  A  plot,  Mr.  Folliard,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  an 
opportunity  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  of  ingra- 
tiating himself  into  the  good  graces  and  affections  of 
your  lovely  daughter  ;  a  plot  for  the  purpose  of  marry- 
in  o-  her." 

The  squire  seemed,  foramoment,  thunderstruck;  but, 
in  a  little  time,  he  recovered.  "  Marrying  her!'  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  that,  you  know,  could  not  be  done,  unless  he 
turned  Protestant." 

It  was  now  time  for  the  baronet  to  feel  thunder- 
stricken.  "  He  turned  Protestant !  I  don't  understand 
you,  Mr.  Folliard.  Could  any  change  on  Reilly's  part 
involve  such  a  probability  as  a  marriage  between  him 
and  your  daughter  f 

"I  can't  believe  it  was  a  plot,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the 
squire,  shifting  the  question,  "nor  I  won't  believe  it. 
There  was  too  much  truth  and  sincerity  in  bis  con- 
duct. And,  what  is  more,  my  house  w^ould  have  been  at- 
tacked last  night  5  I,  myself,  robbed  and  murdered,  and 
my  daughter,  my  child,  carried  off,  only  for  him.  Nay, 
indeed,  it  was  partially  attacked,  but  when  the  villains 
found  us  prepared  they  decamped  ;  but,  as  for  marriage, 
he  could  not  marry  my  daughter,  I  say  again,  so  long 
as  he  remains  a  Papist." 

"  Unless  he  might  prevail  on  her  to  turn  Papist.'' 


80  WILLY   REILLY. 

''  By  the  life  of  my  body,  Sir  Robert,  I  won't  stand 
this.  Did  you  come  here,  sir,  to  insult  rae  and  to  drive 
me  into  madness?  What  devil  could  have  put  it  into 
your  head,  that  my  daughter,  sir,  or  any  one  Avitli  a 
drop  of  my  blood  in  their  veins  to  the  tenth  generation, 
could  ever,  for  a  single  moment,  think  of  turning  Pap- 
ist ?  Sir,  I  hoped  that  you  would  have  respected  the 
name  both  of  my  daughter  and  myself,  and  have  for- 
borne to  add  this  double  insult  both  to  her  and  me. 
The  insolence  even  to  dream  of  in^puting  such  an  act 
to  her  I  cannot  overlook.  You  yourself,  if  you  could 
gain  a  point  or  featlier  your  nest  by  it,  are  a  thousand 
times  more  likely  to  turn  Papist  than  eitiier  of  us. 
Apologize,  instantly,  sir,  or  leave  my  house." 

"  I  can  certainly  apologize,  l\Ir.  Folliard,"  replied  the 
baronet,  ^'  and  with  a  good  conscience,  in  as  much  as  I 
had  not  the  most  remote  intention  of  offending  you, 
much  less  Miss  Folliard — I  accordingly  do  so  promptly 
and  at  once ;  but  as  for  my  allegations  against  Eeilly, 
I  am  in  a  position  to  establish  their  truth  in  the  clear- 
est manner,  and  to  prove  to  you  that  ^  there  wasn't  a 
single  robber  nor  Rapparee  either  at  or  about  your 
house  last  night,  with  the  exception  of  Reilly  and  his 
gang.  If  there  were,  why  were  they  neither  heard 
nor  seen  ?" 

*'  One  of  them  was — the  Red  Rapparee  himself." 

*'  Do  not  be  deceived,  Mr.  Folliard;  did  you  yourself 
or  any  of  your  family  or  household  see  him  ?" 

*'  Why,  no,    certainly — we  did  not — I  admit  that." 

*'  Yes,  and  you  will  admit  more  soon.  I  shall  prove 
the  whole  conspiracy." 

''  Well,  why  don't  you,  then  ?" 

^'  Simply  because  the  matter  must  b^  brought  about 
with  great  caution.  You  must  allow  me  a  few  days, 
say  three  or  four,  and  the  proofs  shall  be  given." 

^'  Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  but  in  the  meantime  I  shall 
not  throw  Reilly  overboard." 


WILLY    REILLY.  81 

'^Couldliiot  be  permitted  to  pay  my  respects  to 
Miss  Folliard  before  I  go,  sir,"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

''  Don't  insist  upon  it,"  replied  her  father  ;  '^  you  know 
perfectly  well  that  she — that  you  are  no  favorite  with 
her." 

''  Nothing"  on  earth,  sir,  grieves  me  so  much,"  said  the 
baronet,  affecting  a  melancholy  expression  of  counte- 
nance, which  was  ludicrous  to  look  at. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  ^'  as  you  can't  see  her 
now,  come  and  meet  Reilly  here  at  dinner  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  have  the  pleasure." 

''It  will  be  with  pain,  sir,  that  I  shall  force  myself 
into  that  person's  society ;  however,  to  oblige  you,  I 
shall  do  it." 

"  Consider,  pray  consider.  Sir  Robert,"  replied  the 
old  squire,  all  his  pride  of  family  glowing  strong  within 
him,  "just  consider  that  my  table,  sir,  and  my  coun- 
tenance, sir,  and  my  sense  of  gratitude,  sir,  are  a  suffi- 
cient guarantee  to  the  worth  and  respectability  of  any 
one  whom  I  may  ask  to  my  house.  And,  Sir  Robert, 
in  addition  to  that,  just  reflect  that  I  ask  him  to  meet 
my  daughter,  and,  if  I  don't  mistake,  I  think  I  love, 
honor,  and  respect  her  nearly  as  much  as  I  do  you. 
Will  you  come,  then,  or  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably,  sir,  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor." 

''  Very  well,"  replied  the  old  squire,  clearing  up  at 
once — undergoing,  in  fact,  one  of  those  rapid  and  un- 
accountable changes  which  constituted  so  prominent  a 
portion  of  his  character — ''  very  well,  Bobby ;  good-by, 
my  boy.  J  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  shake  hands,  and 
d — n  Popery." 

Until  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  two  ri- 
vals were  to  meet,  Miss  Folliard  began  to  entertain  a 
dreadful  apprehension  that  the  fright  into  which  the 
Red  Rapparee  had  thrown  her  father  was  likely  toter- 
minatjs  ere  long  in  insanity.  The  man  at  best  was  ec- 
centric, and  full  of  the  most  unaccountable  changes  of 


82  WILLY    R^ILLY. 

temper  and  purpose,  hot,  passionate,  vindictive,  gene- 
rous, implacable,  and  benevolent.  What  he  had  seldom 
been  accustomed  to  do,  he  commenced  soliloquizing 
aloud,  and  talking  to  himself  in  such  broken  hints  and 
dark  mysterious  allusions,  drawing  from  unknown 
premises  such  odd  and  ludicrous  inferences  ;  at  one  time 
brushing  himself  up  in  Scripture ;  at  another  moment 
questioning  his  daughter  about  her  opinion  on  Poper}^ — 
sometimes  dealing  about  political  and  religious  allusions 
with  great  sarcasm,  in  which  he  was  a  master  when  he 
wished,  and  sometimes  with  considerable  humor  of  illus- 
tration, so  far,  at  least,  as  he  could  be  understood. 

*^  Confound  these  Jesuits,"  said  he,  '^  I  wish  they  were 
scourged  out  of  Europe.  Every  man  of  them  is  sare 
to  put  his  finger  in  the  pie,  and  then  into  his  mouth  to 
taste  what  it's  like ;  not  so  the  parsons — ^Hallo  !  wher^ 
am  I  ?  ,  Take  care,  old  Folliard  ;  take  care,  you  old 
dog;  what  have  you  to  say  in  favor  of  these  same  par- 
sons— lazy,  negligent  fellows,  who  snore  and  slumber, 
feed  well,  clothe  well,  and  think  first  of  number  one  ■. 
Egad,  I'm  in  a  mess  between  them.  One  makes  a  slave 
of  you,  and  the  other  allows  you  to  play  the  tyrant  A 
plague,  as  I  heard  a  fellow  say  in  a  play  once,  a  plague 
o'  both  3^ our  houses:  if  you  paid  more  attention  to 
your  duties,  and  scrambled  less  for  wealth  and  power, 
and  this  world's  honors,  you  would  not  turn  it  upside 
down  as  3^ou  do.     Helen  !  " 

''  Well,  papa." 

^'  I  have  doubts  whether  I  snail  allow  you  to  sound 
Reilly  on  Popery." 

''  I  would  rather  decline  it,  sir." 

''  I'll  tell  you  what ;  I'll  see  Andy  Cummiskey — 
Andy's  opinion  is  good  on  anything."  And  according- 
ly he  proceeded  to  see  liis  confidential  old  servant. 
With  this  purpose,  and  in  his  ovvii  original  manner,  he 
went  about  consulting  every  servant  under  his  roof  up- 
on their  respective  notions  of  Popery,  as  he  called  it, 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  83 

and  striving  to  allure  'them,  at  one  time  by  kindness, 
and  at  another  by  tlireatening*  them,  into  an  avowal  of 
its  idolatrous  tendency.  Those  to  whom  he  spoke, 
however,  knew  very  little  about  it,  and  Jike  those  of 
ill  creeds  in  a  similar  predicament,  he  found  that,  in 
proportion  to  their  ignorance  of  its  doctrines,  arose  the 
vehemence  and  sincerity  of  their  defence  of  it.  This, 
liowever,  is  human  nature,  and  we  do  not  see  how  the 
learned  can  condemn  it.  Upon  the  day  appointed  for 
dinner,  only  four  sat  down  to  it,  that  is  to  say,  the 
squire,  his  daughter,  Sir  Robert  Wiiitecraft,  and  Reilly. 
They  had  met  in  the  drawing-room  some  time  before 
its  announcement,  and  as  the  old  man  introduced  the 
two  latter,  Reilly's  bow  was  courteous  and  gentleman- 
ly ;  whilst  that  of  the  baronet,  who  not  only  detested 
Reilly  with  the  hatred  of  a  demon,  but  resolved  to 
make  him  feel  the  superiority  of  rank  and  wealth,  was 
frigid,  supercilious,  and  offensive.'  Reilly  at  once  saw 
this,  and,  as  he  knew  not  that  the  baronet  was  in  pos- 
session of  his  secret,  he  felt  his  ill-bred  insolence  the 
more  deeply.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  how- 
ever, and  too  well  acquainted  with  the  principles  and 
forms  of  good  breeding,  to  seem  to  notice  it  in  the 
slightest  degree.  The  old  squire,  at  this  time,  had  not 
at  all  given  Reilly  up,  but  still  his  confidence  in  him 
was  considerably  shaken.  He  saw,  moreover,  that 
notwithstanding  what  had  occurred  at  their  last  inter- 
view, tlie  baronet  had  forgotten  the  respect  due  both 
to  himself  and  his  daughter;  and,  as  he  had,  amidst  all 
his  eccentricities,  many  strong  touches  of  the  old  Irish 
gentleman  about  him,  he  resolved  to  punish  him  for 
his  ungentlemanly  deportment.  Accordingly,  when 
dinner  was  announced,  he  said  : — 

'^  Mr.    Reill}^,    you    will   give   Miss    Folliard    your 
arm." 

We  do  not  say   that  the  worthy  baronet  squinted, 
but  there  was  a  bad,  vindictive  look  in  his  small,  cun- 


84  \VILLY    REILLY. 

ning  eyes,  which,  as  they  turned  upon  Reill}^,  was  ten 
times  more  repulsive  than  the  worst  squint  that  ever 
disfiofured  a  human  countenance.  To  add  to  his 
chagrin,  too,  the  squire  came  out  with  a  bit  of  his 
usual  sarcasm. 

"Come,  baronet,"  said  he,  '^  here's  my  arm.  I  am 
the  old  man,  and  you  are  the  old  lady ;  and  now  for 
dinner." 

In  the  meantime,  Reilly  and  the  Coleen  Baivn  had 
gone  far  enough  in  advance  to  be  in  a  condition  to 
speak  without  being  heard. 

'■^  That,"  said  she,  "  is  the  husband  my  father  intends 
for  me,  or,  rather,  did  intend :  for,  do  you  know,  that 
you  have  found  such  favor  in  his  sight,  that — that — " 
She  hesitated,  and  Reilly,  looking  into  her  face,  saw 
that  she  blushed  deeply,  and  he  felt  by  her  arm  that 
her  whole  frame  trembled  with  emotion. 

"Proceed,  dearest  love,"  said  he;  ^'what  is  it!  " 

"  I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  now,"  she  replied, 
^'  but  he  mentioned  a  project  to  me,  which  if  it  could 
be  accomplished,  would  seal  both  your  happiness  and 
mine  forever.     Your  religion  is  the  only  obstacle." 

''  And  that,  my  love,"  he  replied,  "  is  an  unsurmount- 
able  one." 

"  Alas!  I  feared  as  much,"  she  replied,  sighing  bit- 
terly as  she  spoke. 

The  old  squire  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  re- 
quested Sir  Robert  to  take  the  foot ;  his  daughter  was 
at  his  right  hand,  and  Reilly  opposite  her,  by  which 
means,  although  denied  any  confidential  use  of  the 
tongue,  their  eyes  enjoyed  very  gratifying  advantages  ; 
and  there  passed  between  them  obcasionally  some  of 
those  rapid  glances  which,  especially  when  lovers  are 
under  surveillance,  concentrate  in  their  lightning  flash 
more  significance,  more  hope,  more  joy,  and  more 
love,  than  evet  was  conveyed  by  the  longest  and  ten- 
derest  gaze  of  affection  under  other  circumstances. 


WILLY    REILLV.  85 

''  Mr.  Reillvy,"  said  tlie  squire,  ''  T  am  told  that  you 
are  a  very  well  educated  man  ;  indeed,  the  thing  is  evi- 
dent. What,  let  me  ask,  is  your  opinion  of  education 
in  general  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  '^  I  think  there  can  be  but 
one  opinion  about  it.  Without  education  a  people  can 
never  be  moral,  prosperous,  or  happy.  Without  it, 
how  are  they  to  learn  the  duties  of  this  life,  or  those 
still  more  important  ones  that  prepare  them  for  a  bet- 
ter I" 

"  You  would  intrust  the  conduct  and  control  of  it,  I 
presume,  sir,  to  the  clergy  ?  "  asked  Sir  Robert,  insidi- 
ously. 

"  No,  sir,''  replied  Reilly,  ^*  I  w^ould  intrust  the  con- 
duct and  control  of  it  to  the  State.  1  look  upon  the 
schoolmaster  to  be  a  much  more  important  character 
than  the  priest." 

''  Which  description  of  priest  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  in- 
quired the  baronet  again. 

'^  Every  description,  sir.  If  the  complete  control  of 
education  w^ere  committed  to  the  priests  of  any  or  all 
creeds,  the  consequence  would  be  a  generation  of  big- 
ots, fraught  with  the  worst  elements  of  civil  and  relig- 
ious rancor.  1  would  give  the  priest  only  such  a  limit- 
ed control  in  education  as  becomes  his  position,  which 
is  not  to  educate  the  youth,  but  instruct  the  man,  and 
only  in  those  duties  enjoined  by  religion." 

The  squire  now  gave  a  triumphant  look  at  the  baro- 
net, and  a  very  kind  and  gracious  one  at  Reilly. 

"  Pray,  sii*,"  continued  the  baronet,  in  his  cold,  sup- 
ercilious manner,  ^'frora  the  peculiarity  of  your  views, 
I  feel  anxious,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  to  ask  where  you 
yourself  have  received  your  very  accomplished  educa- 
tion ?  " 

"  Whether  my  education,  sir,  has  been  an  accomplish- 
ed one  or  otherwise,"  replied  Reilly,  ''  is  a  point,  I  ap- 
prehend, beyond  the  reach  of  any  opportunity  you  ever 


86  WILLV    REILLY. 

had  to  know.  I  received  my  education,  sir,  sucli  as  it 
is,  and  if  it  be  not  better  the  fault  is  my  own,  in  a 
Jesuit  seminary  .on  the  Continent." 

It  was  now  the  baronet's  time  to  triumph  ;  and  in- 
deed the  bitter,  glancing  look  he  gave  at  the  squire,  al- 
though it  was  intended  for  Reilly,  resembled  that  which 
one  of  the  more  cunning  and  ferocious  beasts  of  prey 
makes,  previotts  to  his  death-spring  upon  its  victim. 
The  old  man's  countenance  instantly  fell.  He  looked 
with  surprise  not  unmingled  with  sorrow  and  distrust 
at  Reilly,  a  circumstance  which  did  nbt  escape  his 
daughter,  who  could  not,  for  the  life  of  her,  avoid  fix- 
ing her  eyes,  lovelier  even  in  the  disdain  they  ex- 
pressed, with  an  intiignant  look  at  the  baronet. 

The  latter,  however,  felt  resolved  to  bring  his  rival 
still  further  within  the  toils  he  was  preparing  for  him, 
an  object  which  Reilly's  candor  very  much   facilitated. 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  '^  I  was  not  prepared  to 
hear— a — -hem  ! — God  bless  me,  it  is  very  odd,  very 
deplorable,  very  much  to  be  regretted  indeed  !  '* 

*' What  is,  sir?" 

^'  Why,  that  you  should  be  a  Jesuit.  I  must  confess 
I  was  not— a— hem  !—  God  bless  me.  I  can't  doubt 
your  own  word,  cei'tainly." 

^'Not  on  this  subject,"  observed  the  baronet,  coolly. 
*'  On  no  subject,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  lookiiig  at  him 
sternly,  and  with  an  indignation  that  was  kept  within 
bounds  only  by  his  respect  for  the  other  parties,  and  the 
roof  that  covered  him  ;  ''on  no  subject.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  is  my  word  to  be  dotibted." 

''  I  beg  you  pardon,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "I  did 
not  say  so." 

''  I  will  neither  have  it  said,  sir,  nor  insinuated,"  re- 
joined Reilly.  "I  received  my  education  on  the  Con- 
tinent, because  the  laws  of  this  country  prevented  me 
from  receiving  it  here.  I  was  placed  in  a  Jesuit  semi- 
nary, not  by  own  choice,  but  by  that  of  my  father,  to 


wiLLv  rp:illv.  87 

wliom  I  owed  obedience.  Your  oppressive  Inws,  sir, 
first  keep  us  ignorant,  and  then  punish  us  for  the  crimes 
which  that  ignorance  produces." 

''  Do  you  call  the  laws  of  tlie  country  oppressive  ? " 
asked  the  baronet,  with  as  much  of  a  sneer  ^s  cowardice 
would  permit  him  to  indulge  in. 

"  I  do,  sir,  and  ever  will  consider  them  so,  at  least  so 
long  as  they  deprive  myself  and  my  Catholic  fellow- 
countrymen  of  their  civil  and  religious  rights." 

^'  That  is  strong  language,  though,"  observed  the 
other,  '*  at  this  time  of  day." 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  squire,  ^'  you  seem  to  be  very 
much  attached  to  your  religion." 

"  Just  as  much  as  I  am  to  my  life,  sir,  and  would  as 
soon  give  up  the  one  as  the  other." 

The  squire's  countenance  literally  became  pale,  his 
last  hope  was  gone,  and  so  great  was  his  agitation,  that, 
in  bringing  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  his  hand  trembled 
to  such  a  degree  that  he  spilled  a  part  of  it.  This,  how- 
ever, was  not  all.  A  settled  gloom,  a  morose,  dissatis- 
fied expression  soon  overshadowed  his  features,  from 
which  disappeared  the  trace  of  that  benignant,  open 
and  friendly  hospitality  towards  Reilly,  that  had  hither- 
to beamed  from  them.  He  and  the  baronet  exchanged 
glances,  of  whose  import,  if  Reilly  was  ignorant,  not  so 
his  beloved  Coleen  Bawn,  For  the  remainder  of  the 
evening,  the  squire  treated  Reilly  with  great  coolness, 
always  addressing  him  as  Mister,  and  evidently  contem- 
plating him  in  a  spirit  which  partook  of  the  feeling  that 
animated  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 

Helen  rose  to  withdraw,  and  contrived  by  a  sudden 
glance  at  the  door  and  another  as  quick  in  the  direction 
of  the  drawing-room,  to  let  her  lover  know  that  she 
wished  him  to  follow  lier  soon.  The  hint  was  not  lost, 
for  in  less  than  hnlf  an  hour  Reilly,  who  was  of  very 
temperate  liabits,  joined  her  as  she  liad  hinted. 

*^  Reilly,"said  she,  as  she  ran  to  him,"  dearest  Reilly  ! 


88  WILLY    REILLY. 

there  is  little  time  to  be  lost.  I  perceive  that  a  secret 
understanding*  respecting  you  exists  between  papa 
and  that  detestable  baronet.  Be  on  your  guard,  es- 
pecially against  the  latter,  who  has  evidently,  ever  since 
we  sat  down  to  dinner,  contrived  to  bring  papa  round 
to  his  own  way  of  thinking,  as  he  will  ultimately, 
perhaps,  to  worse  designs  and  darker  purposes.  Above 
all  things,  speak  nothing  that  can  be  construed  against 
the  existing  laws.  I  find  that  danger,  if  not  positive 
injury,  awaits  you.  I  shall,  at  any  risk,  give  you 
warnino;'." 

'^  At  no  risk,  beloved  !" 

*' At  every  risk — at  all  risks,  dearest  Reilly  !  Nay, 
more — whatever  danger  may  encompass  you  shall  he 
shared  by  me,  even  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  or  I  shall  ex- 
tricate you  out  of  it.  But,  perhaps  3^ou  will  not  be 
faithful  to  me.  If  so,  I  shudder  to  think  what  might 
happen." 

^'  Listen,"  said  Reilly,  taking  her  to  his  bosom  ;  *^  in 
the  presence  of  Heaven^  I  am  yours,  and  yours  only,  until 
death  r 

She  repeated  his  words,  after  which  they  embraced 
each  other  in  haste,  and  had  scarcely  taken  their  seats 
when  the  squire  and  Sir  Robert  entered  the  drawing- 
room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  PLOT  AND  THE  VICTIMS. 


Sir  Robert,  on  entering  the  room  along  with  the 
squire,  found  the  Coleen  Baivn  at  the  spinet.  Taking 
his  place  at  the  end  of  it,  so  that  he  could  gain  a 
full  view  of  her  countenance,  he  thought  he  could  ob- 
serve her  complexion  considerably  heightened  in  color, 


I 


WILLY    REILLY.  89 

and  from  her  his  glance  was  directed  to  Reilly.  Tlie 
squire,  on  the  other  hand,  sat  dull,  silent,  and  unsocia- 
ble, unless  when  addressing  himself  to  the  baronet,  and 
immediately  his  genial  manner  returned  to  him. 

With  his  usual  impetuosity,  however,  when  laboring 
under  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  sense  of  injury,  he  soon 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis. 

"  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  are  the  Papists  quiet  now  f^ 
"■  They  are  quiet,  sir,"    repHed  the  other,    ''  because 
they  dare  not  be  otherwise." 

''  By  the  great  Deliverer,  that  saved  us  from  Pope 
and  Popery,  brass  money,  and  wooden  shoes,  I  think 
the  country  will  never  be  quiet  till  they  are  banished 
out  of  it." 

'^  Indeed,  Mr.  Folhard,  I  agree  with  you." 
''  And  so  do  I,  Sir  Robert,"  said  Reilly  ;  "I  wish, 
from  my  soul,  there  was  not  a  Papist — as  you  call 
them — in  this  unfortunate  country  !  In  any  other 
country  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  Pritish  dominions, 
they  could  enjoy  freedom.  But  I  wish  it  for  another 
reason,  gentlemen  ;  if  they  were  gone,  you  would  then 
be  taught  to  your  cost  the  value  of  your  estates  and 
the  source  of  your  incomes.  And  now,  Mr.  Folliard, 
I  am  not  conscious  of  having  given  you  any  earthly 
offence,  but  I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to  misunderstand 
the  object  of  your  altered  conduct  and  language.  I 
am  your  guest  at  your  own  express  invitation.  You 
know  I  am  a  Roman  Catholic — Papist,  if  you  w-ill — ■ 
yet,  w^ith  the  knowledge  of  this,  you  have  not  only  in- 
sulted me  personally,  but  also  in  the  creed  to  which  I 
belong.  As  for  that  gentleman,  I  can  only  say  that  this 
roof  and  the  presence  of  those  wdio  are  under  it  consti- 
tute his  protection.  But  I  envy  not  the  man  who  could 
avail  himself  of  such  a  position  for  the  purpose  of  insin- 
uating an  insult  which  he  dare  not  offer  under  other 
circumstances.  I  will  not  apologize  for  taking  my  de- 
parture, for  I  feel  I  hav^  been  too  lono-  hei'e.'' 


90  WILLY    REILLY. 

Coleen  Bawn  arose  in  deep  agitation.  ^'  Dear  papa, 
what  is  this  f  she  exclaimed.  "  What  can  be  the  cause 
of  itt  Why  forget  the  laws  of  hospitality?  Why, 
above  all  things,  deliberately  insult  the  man  to  whom 
3^ou  and  I  both  owe  so  much  ?  0,  I  cannot  understand 
it.  Some  demon,  equally  cowardly  and  malignant, 
must  have  poisoned  your  own  naturally  generous 
mind.  Some  villain,  equally  profligate  and  hypocriti- 
cal, has,  for  some  dark  purpose,  given  this  unworthy 
bias  to  your  mind." 

"  You  know  nothing  of  it,  Helen.  You're  altogether 
in  the  dark,  girl ;  but^  in  a  day  or  two,  it  will  all  be 
made  clear  to  you." 

"Do  not  be  discomposed,  my  dear  Miss  FoUiard," 
said  Sir  Robert,  striding  over  to  her.  ''Allow  me  to 
prevail  upon  you  to  suspend  your  judgment  for  a  little, 
and  to  return  to  the  beautiful  air  you  were  enchanting 
us  with." 

As  he  spoke,  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand. 
Reilly,  in  the  meantime,  was  waiting  for  an  opportu- 
nity to  bid  his  love  o^ood-night. 

"  Touch  me  not,  sir,"  she  replied,  her  sj)lendid  eyes 
flashing  with  indignation.  "  I  charge  you  as^the  base 
cause  of  drawing  down  the  disgrace  of  shame,  the  sin 
of  ingratitude,  on  my  father's  head.  But  here  that 
father  stands,  and  there  you,  sir,  stand;  and  sooner 
than  become  the  wife  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  I  would 
dash  myself  from  the  battlements  of  this  castle.  William 
Reilly,  brave  and  generous  young  man,  good-night !  It 
matters  not  who  may  forget  the  debt  of  gratitude  which 
this  family  owe  you — I  will  not.  No  cowardly  slander- 
er shall  instil  his  poisonous  calumnies  against  you  into 
mz/ ear.>  My  opinion  of  you  is  unchanged  and  unchang- 
able.     Farewell !  William  Reilly  !" 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  tlie  commotions  of 
love,  of  happiness,  of  rapture,  wliich  filled  Reilly's 
bosom  as  he  took  his  departure.     It  was,  if  we   coi\ld 


WILLV    REILLV.  9  I 

suppose  siicli  a  thing',  like  a  storm  in  heaven  ;  tlio  verj 
gloom  which  he  felt  being*  turned  by  her  love  into 
veiled  light.  As  for  Coleen  Baivn,  she  had  now  passed 
the  Rubicon,  and  there  remained  nothing  for  her  but 
constancy  to  the  truth  of  her  affection,  be  the  resuh 
what  it  might.  She  had,  indeed,  much  of  the  vehemence 
of  her  father's  character  in  lier ;  much  of  his  unchange- 
able purpose,  when  she  felt  or  thought  she  was  right  , 
but  not  one  of  his  unfounded  whims  or  prejudices  ;  for 
she  was  too  noble-minded  and  sensible  to  be  influenced 
by  unbecoming  or  inadequate  motives.  With  an 
indignant  but  beautiful  scorn,  that  gave  grace  to  resent- 
ment, she  bowed  to  the  baronet,  then  kissed  her  father 
affectionately,  and  retired. 

The  old  man,  after  she  had  gone,  sat  for  a  consider- 
able time  silent.  In  fact,  the  superior  force  of  his 
daughter's  character  had  not  only  surprised,  but  over- 
powered him  for  the  moment.  The  baronet  attempted 
to  resume  the  conversation,  but  lie  found  not  his  intend- 
ed father-in-law  in  the  mood  for  it.  The  light  of  truth, 
as  it  flashed  from  the  spirit  of  his  daughter,  seemed  to 
dispel  the  darkness  of  his  new-born  suspicions  ;  he 
dwelt  upon  the  possibility  of  ingratitude,  with  a  tem- 
porary remorse. 

''  I  cannot  speak  to  you,  Sir  Robert,"  he  said  ;  ''I 
anl  confused,  disturbed,  distressed.  If  I  have  treated 
that  young  man  ungratefully,  God  may  forgive  me,  but 
I  will  never  forgive  myself." 

"Take  care,  sir,"  said  the  baronet,"  that  you  are  not 
under  the  spell  of  the  Jesuit,  and  your  daughter,  too. 
Perhaps  you  will  find,  when  it  is  too  late,  that  she  is 
the  more  spell-bound  of  the  two.  If  i  don't  mistake, 
the  spell  begins  to  work  already.  In  the  meantime, 
as  Miss  Folliard  will  have  it,  I  withdraw  all  claims  up- 
on her  hand  and  affections.  Good-night,  sir."  And  as 
he  spoke  he  took  his  departure. 

For  a  long   time  the    old  man  sat  looking  into  the 


92  WILLY    REILLY. 

fire,  where  lie  began  gradually  to  picture  to  himself 
strange  forms  and  objects  in  the  glowing  embers,  one 
of  whom  he  thought  resembled  the  Red  Rapparee, 
about  to  shoot  him,  another  Willy  Reilly,  making  love 
to  his  daughter,  and  behind  all,  a  high  gallows,  on  which 
he  beheld  the  said  Willy  hanging  for  his  crime. 

In  about  an  hour  afterwards.  Miss  Folliard  returned 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  she  found  lier  father  asleep 
in  his  arm-chair.  Having  awakened  him  gently  from 
what  appeared  a  disturbed  dream,  he  looked  about 
him,  and  forgetting  for  a  moment  all  that  had  happened, 
inquired  in  his  usual  eager  manner  where  Reilly  and 
Whitecraft  were,  and  if  they  had  gone.  In  a  few 
moments,  however,  he  recollected  the  circumstances 
that  had  taken  place,  and,  after  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
he  opened  his  arms  for  his  daughter,  and  as  he  em- 
braced her,  burst  into  tears. 

''  Helen,"  said  he,"  I  am  unhappy  ;  I  am  distressed, 
I  know  not  what  to  do  ! — may  God  forgive  me  if  I 
have  treated  this  young  man  with  ingratitude.  But  at 
all  events  a  few  days  will  clear  it  all  up." 

His  daughter  was  melted  by  the  depth  of  his  sorrow, 
and  the  more  so,  as  it  was  seldom  she  had  seen  him 
shed  tears  before. 

''I  would  do  everything,  anything  to  make  you 
happy  my  dear  treasure,"  said  he,  "if  I  only  knew 
how." 

*'  Dear  papa,"  she  replied,  "  of  that  I  am  conscious  ; 
and  as  a  proof  that  the  heart  of  your  daughter  is  in- 
capable of  veiling  a  single  thought  that  passes  in  it, 
from  a  parent  who  loves  her  so  well,  I  will  place  its 
most  cherished  secret  in  your  own  keeping.  I  shall 
not  be  outdone  even  by  you,  dear  papa,  in  generosity, 
in  confidence,  in  affection.  Papa,"  she  added,  placing 
her  head  upon  his  bosom,  whilst  the  tears  flowed  fast 
down  her  cheeks,  "  papa,  I  love  William  Reilly — love 
him  with  a  pure  and  disinterested  passion  ! — with  a  pas- 


WILLY    REILLY.  93 

sion  which,  I  feel,  constitutes  iiiy  destiny  in  this  Hfe — 
either  for  happiness  or  miser3^  Tliat  passion  is  irrevo- 
cable. It  is  useless  to  ask  me  to  control  or  suppress  it, 
for  I  feel  that  the  task  is  beyond  my  power.  My  love, 
however,  is  not  base  nor  selfish,  papa,  but  founded  on 
virtue  and  honor.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should 
make  such  a  confession  to  you,  for  I  know  it  is  un- 
usual in  young  persons  like  me  to  do  so  ;  but  remember, 
dear  papa,  that  except  yourself  I  have  no  friend.  If  I 
had  a  mother,  or  a  sister,  or  a  cousin  of  my  own  sex,  to 
whom  I  might  confide  and  unburden  my  feelings,  then, 
indeed,  it  is  not  probable  I  would  make  to  you  the  con- 
fession which  I  have  made  ;  but  we  are  alone,  and  you 
are  the  only  being  left  me  on  whom  I  can  rest  my  sor- 
row— for,  indeed,  my  heart  is  full  of  sorrow." 

''Well,  ^vell,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  You  are  a 
true  girl,  Helen,  and  the  very  error,  if  it  be  one,  is  re- 
duced by  the  magnanimity  and  truth  which  prompted 
you  to  disclose  it  to  me.  I  wall  go  to  bed,'  dearest,  and 
sleep,  if  I  can.  I  trust  in  God  there  is  no  calamity  about 
to  overshadow  our  house,  or  destroy   our  happiness."' 

He  then  sought  his  own  chamber  ;  a»d  Coleeri  Baivn^ 
after  attending  him  thither,  left  him  to  tlie  care  of  his 
attendant,  and  retired  herself  to  her  apartment. 

On  reaching  home,  Reilly  found  Fergus,  one  of  his 
own  relatives,  as  we  have  said,  the  same  wdio,  warned 
by  his  remonstrances,  had  abandoned  the  gang  of  the 
Red  Rapparee,  Avaiting  to  see  him. 

"  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
followed  my  advice.  You  have  left  the  lawless  em- 
ployment of  that  blood-stained  manf 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  other,  "and  I'm  here  to  tell 
you  that  you  can  now  secure  him- if  you  like.  I  don't 
look  upon  sayin'  this  as  threachery  to  him,  nor  would 
I  mention  it,  only  that  Paudeen,  the  smith,  wdio  shoes 
and  doctors  his  horses,  tould  me  something  that  j^ou 
ought  to  know^" 


94  WILLY    REILLY. 

''Well,  Fergus,  what  is  it  f 

*'  There's  a  plot  laid,  sir,  to  send  you  out  o'  the  coun- 
try, and  the  Red  Rapparee  has  a  hand  in  it.  He  is 
promised  a  pardon  from  Government,  and  some  kind 
'of  a  place  as  a  thief-taker,  if  he'll  engage  in  it  against 
yon.  Now,  you  know,  there's  a  price  upon  his  head, 
and  if  you  like,  you  can  have  it,  and  get  an  enemy  put 
out  of  your  way  at  the  same  time." 

''  No,  Fergus,"  replied  Reilly :  ''  in  a  moment  of  in- 
dignation, I  threatened  him,  in  order  to  save  the  life  of 
a  fellow-cieature.  But  let  the  laws  deal  with  him.  iVs 
for  me,  you  know  what  he  deserves  at  my  hands,  but  I 
shall  never  become  the  hound  of  a  Government  whicli 
oppresses  me  unjustly.  No,  no,  it  is  precisely  because 
a  price  is  laid  upon  the  unfortunate  miscreant's  head 
that  /  would  not  betray  him." 

"  He  will  betray  you,  then." 

"And  let  him.  I  have  never  violated  any  law,  and 
even  though  he  should  betray  me,  Fergus,  he  cannot 
make  me  guilty.  To  the  laws,  to  God,  and  his  own  con- 
science, I  leave  him.  No,  Fergus,  all  sympathy  be- 
tween me  and  the  laws  that  oppress  us  is  gone.  Let 
them  vindicate  themselves  against  thieves,  and  robbers, 
and  murderers,  with  as  much  vigilance  and  energy  as 
they  do  against  the  harmless  forms  of  religion  and  the 
rights  of  conscience,  and  the  country  will  soon  be  free 
from  such  licentious  pests  as  the  Red  Rapparee  and  his 
o-ang"." 

"You  speak  warmly,  Mr.  Reilly." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  am  warm,  I  am  indignant 
at  my  degradation.  Fergus,  Fergus,  I  never  felt  that 
degradation  and  its  consequences  so  deepb^  as  I  do  this 
unhappy  night" 

''  Well,  will  you  listen  to  me  f 

"  I  will  strive  to  do  so  ;  but  you  know  not  the — you 
know  not — Alas !  I  have  no  language  to  express  what 
I  feel.     Proceed,   however."  lie  added,    attempting  to 


WlLLV    KElLiA'.  \)ij 

calm  the  tumult  tlmt  agit«ated  his  heart ;  *^  what  about 
this  plot  or  plan  for  putting"  me  out  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  it's  determined  on  to  send  you,  by  the 
manes  of  the  same  laws  3^ou  speak  of,  out  of  the  country. 
The  red  villain  is  to  come  in  with  a  charge  against 
you,  and  surrender  himself  to  Government  as  a  peni- 
tent man,  and  the  person  who  is  to  protect  him  is  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft." 

^^  It's  all  true,  Fergus,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  I  see  it  at  a 
glance,  and  understand  it  a  great  deal  better  than  you 
do.  They  may,  however,  be  disappointed.  Fergus,  I 
have  a  friend — a  friend — O  Heaven !  such  a  friend  ; 
and  it  will  go  hai'd  with  that  friend,  or  I  shall  hear  of 
their  proceedings.  In  the  meantime,  what  do  i/oii  in- 
tend to  do  !  " 

*'I  scarcely  know^,"  replied  the  other.  ''I  must  lie 
quiet  for  a  while,  at  any  rate." 

"Do  so,"  said  Reilly;  '^and  listen,  Fergus.  See 
Paudeen  the  smith,  from  time  to  time,  and  get  whatever 
he  knows  out  of  him.  His  father  was  a  tenant  of  ours, 
and  he  ought  to  remember  our  kindness  to  him  and 
his." 

'^  Ay,"  said  Fergus,  '^  and  he  does  too." 

*'  Well,  it  is  clear  he  does.  Get  from  him  all  the  in- 
formation you  can,  and  let  me  hear  it.  I  would  give 
you  shelter  in  my  house,  but  that  noiv  would  be  dan- 
gerous both  to  me  and  you.  Do  you  want  money  to 
support  you  ?  " 

"  WejJ,  indeed,  Mr,  Reilly,  I  do  and  I  do  not.  I  can — " 

"  That's  enough,"  said  Reilly  ;  "  you  want  it.  Here, 
take  this.  I  would  recommend  you,  as  I  did  before,  to 
leave  this  unhappy  country  ;  but  as  circumstances  have 
turned  out,  you  may,  for  some  time  yet,  be  useful  to 
me.  Good-night,  then,  Fergus.  Serve  me  in  this  mat- 
ter, as  far  as  you  can,  for  I  stand  in  need  of  it." 

As  nothing  like  an  organized  police  existed  in  Ireland 
at  the  period  of  which  we  speak,  an  outlavv^  or  Rapparee 


96  WILLY    REILLY. 

might  have  a  price  laid  upon  his  head  for  months — 
nay,  for  years — and  yet  continue  his  outrages,  and  defy 
the  Executive.  Sometimes  it  happened  that  the  au-, 
thorities,  feehng  the  weakness  of  their  resources  and  the 
inadequacy  of  their  power,  did  not  hesitate  to  propose 
terms  to  the  leaders  of  those  banditti,  and,  by  affording 
them  personal  protection,  succeeded  in  inducing  them 
to  betray  they  former  associates.  Now,  Reilly  was 
well  aware  of  this,  and  our  readers  need  not  be  surprised 
that  the  communication  made  to  him  by  his  kinsman 
filled  him  not  only  with  anxiety  but  alarm.  A  very 
slight  charge,  indeed,  brought  forward  by  a  man  of  rank 
and  property — such  a  charge,  for  instance,  as  the  pos- 
session of  fire  arms^was  quite  sufficient  to  get  a  Roman 
Catholic  banished  the  country. 

On  the  third  evening  after  this,  our  friend  Tom  Stee- 
ple was  met  by  its  proprietor  in  the  avenue  leading  to 
Corbo  Castle. 

''  Well,  Tom,"  said  the  squire,  ''  are  you  for  the  Big 
House  !" — for  such  is  the  general  term  applied  to  all  the 
ancestral  mansions  of  the  country. 

Tom  stooped  and  looked  at  him — for  we  need  scarce- 
ly observe  here,  that  with  poor  Tom  there  was  no  re- 
spect of  persons  :  he  then  shook  his  head,  and  replied, 
^'  Me  don't  know  whether  you  tall  or  not.  Tom  tall — 
will  Tom  go  to  Big  House — get  bully  dinner — and  Tom 
sleep  under  the  stairs — eh  1    Say  ay,  an'  you  be  tall  too." 

''  To  be  sure,  Tom  ;  go  into  the  house,  and  your 
cousin  Larry  tanigan,  the  cook,  will  give  yo^  a  bull}' 
dinner  ;  and  sleep  where  you  like." 

The  squire  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue  in  a 
thoug-htful  mood  for  some  moments  until  anotlier  of  our 
characters  met  him  on  his  way  towards  the  entrance- 
gate.     This  person  was  no  other  than  Molly  Mahon. 

''  Ha !  "  said  he,  *^  here  is  another  of  them — well,  poor 
devils,  they  must  live.  This,  though,  is  the  great  for- 
tune-teller;  I  will  try  her." 


WILLY    REILLY.  97 

^'  God  save  your  honor,"  said  Molly,  as  she  ap- 
proached liini,  and  dropped  a  courtesy. 

**Ah,  Molly,"  said  he,  ^' you  can  see  into  the  future, 
they  sa}'.  Well,  come  now — tell  me  my  fortune  :  but 
they  say  that  one  must  cross  your  palm  with  silver  be- 
fore you  can  manao^e  the  fates ;  here's  a  shilling  for  you, 
and  let  us  hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Molly,  putting  back  his  hand,  ''im- 
posthors  may  do  that,  because  they  secure  themselves 
first,  and  tell  you  nothing  worth  knowin'  afterwards. 
I  take  no  money  till  I  first  tell  the  fortune-" 

^^  Well,  IMolly,  that's  honest,  at  all  events — let  me 
hear  what  you  have  to  tell  me." 

'^  Show  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  she ;  and  taking  it, 
she  looked  into  it  with  a  solemn  aspect.  ''  There,  sir,'^ 
she  said,  ''that  will  do,  I'm  sorry  I  met  you  tlfis 
evenin'." 

"Why  so,  Molly?" 

''  Because  I  read  in  your  hand  a  great  deal  of  sorrow." 

''  Pooh,  you  foolish  woman — nonsense  !  " 

*'  There's  a  misfortune  likely  to  happen  to  one  of 
your  family ;  but  I  think  it  may  be  prevented." 

'^  How  will  it  be  prevented." 

''  By  a  gentleman  that  has  a  title  and  great  weaith, 
and  that  loves  the  member  of  your  family  that  the  mis- 
fortune is  likely  to  happen  to." 

The  squire  paused,  and  looked  at  the  woman,  who 
seemed  to  speak  seriously,  and  even  with  pain. 

''  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Molly  ;  but  granting  that 
it  be  true,  how  do  you  know  it  I " 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell,  m^^self,  sir,"  she  replied. 
"  A  feelin'  comes  over  me,  and  I  can't  help  speakin' 
the  words  as  they  rise  to  my  lips." 

"  Well,  Molly,  here's  a  shilling  for  you  now  ;  but  I 
want  you  to  see  m}^  daughter's  hand,  till  I  hear  what 
you  have  to  say  for  her.     Are  you  a  Papist,  Molly  ?  " 

^*  No,  your  honor,  I  was  one  wanst ;  but  the  moment 


98  '  WILLY    REfLLY. 

we  take  to  this  way  of  life  we  nmstii't  belong*  to  any  re- 
ligion, otherwise  we  couldn't  tell  the  future." 

"  Sell  yourselves  to  the  devil,  eh  I  " 

*'  O  no,  sir;  but — " 

''But  what?     Out  with  it." 

"  I  can't,  sir ;  if  I  did  I  never  could  tell  a  fortune 
agin." 

"  Well — well ;  come  up.  I  have  taken  a  fancy  that 
you  shall  tell  my  daughter's  for  all  that." 

''  Surely,  there  can  be  nothing  but  happiness  before 
her,  sir  ;  she  that  is  so  good  to  the  poor  and  distressed  ; 
she  that  has  all  the  world  admirin'  her  wonderful  beauty. 
Sure,  they  say,  her  health  w^as  drunk  in  tlie  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant's house  in  the  great  Castle  of  Dublin,  as  the 
Lily  of  the  plains  of  Boyle  and  the  Star  of  L-eland." 

"  And  so  it  was,  Molly  ;  and  so-it  w^as  ;  there's  another 
shilling  for  you.  Come  now,  come  up  to  the  house, 
and  tell  her  fortune  ;  and  mark  me,  Molly,  no  flattery 
now — nothing  but  the  truth,  if  you  know  it." 

"Did  I  flatter  ^ow,  sir!" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  anything  but  that,  Molly,  and  all  I 
ask  is  that  you  won't  flatter  lier.  Speak  the  truth,  as  I 
said  before,  if  you  know  it." 

Miss  Folliard,  on  being  called  down  by  her  father  to 
have  her  fortune  told,  on  seeing  Molly,  drew  back  and 
said — 

.  "  Do  not  ask  me  to  come  in  direct  contact  w^ith  this 
w^oman,  papa.  How  can  you,  for  one  moment,  imagine 
that  a  person  of  her  life  and  habits  could  be  gifted  with 
that  which  has  never  yet  been  communicated  to  mortal 
(the  holy  prophets  excepted) — a  knowledge  of  futin*ity!  " 

''  No  matter,  my  darling,  no  matter ;  give  her  your 
hand  ;  you  w^ill  oblige  and  gratify  me  " 

"  Here,  then,  dear  papa,  to  please  you — certainly." 

Molly  took  her  lovely  hand,  and  having  looked  into  it, 
said,  turning  to  the  squire,  ''  It's  very  odd,  sir,  but  here's 
nearly  the  same  thing  that  I  tould  to  you  awhile  ago.'^ 


WILJA'    REILLV.  99 

''  Well,  Molly,"  said  he,  "  let  us  hear  it." 

Miss  Folliard  stood  with  her  snowy  hand  in  that  of 
the  fortune-teller,  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  art,  but 
not  without  strong  feelings  of  disgust  at  the  ordeal  to 
which  she  submitted. 

''Now,  Molly,"  said  the  squire,  '' what  have  you 
to  say  '1 " 

"Here's  love,"  she  replied,  ''love  in  the  wrong  di- 
rection — a  false  step  is  made  that  will  end  in  misery 
and — and — and — " 

''  And  what,  woman  I  "  asked  Miss  Folliard,  with  an 
mdignant  glance  at  the  fortune-teller.  "  What  have 
you  to  add !  " 

''  No  1"  said  she,  "  I  needn't  spake  it,  for  it  w^on't  come 
to  pass.  I  see  a  man  of  wealth  and  title  who  will  just 
come  in  in  time  to  save  3^ou  from  shame  and  destruction, 
and  with  him  you  will  be  happy." 

'' I  could  prove  to  you,"  replied  Coleen  Bawn,  her 
face  mantling  with  blushes  of  indignation,  ''that  I  am 
a  better  prophetess  than  you  are.  Ask  her,  papa, 
where  she  last  came  from." 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  last,  Molly  'F  " 

"  Why,  then,"  she  replied,  "  from  Jemmy  Hamilton's, 
at  the  foot  of  Cullamor^." 

"  False  prophetess,"  replied  the  Coleen  Bawn,  *' you 
have  told  an  untruth  I  know  where  you  came  from 
last." 

"  Then  where  did  I  come  from,  Miss  Folliard  !  "  said 
the  woman,  with  unexpected  effrontery. 

"  From  Sir  Robert  Wliitecraft,"  replied  Miss  Folliard, 
"  and  the  wages  of  your  dishonesty,  and  his  corruption, 
are  the  sources  of  your  inspiration.  Take  the  woman 
away,  papa." 

"That  will  do,  Mollv — that  will  do,"  exclaimed  the 
squire,  "  there  is  something  additional  for  you.  What 
you  have  told  us  is  very  odd — very  odd,  indeed.  Go 
and  get  your  dinner  in  the  kitchen." 


100  WILLY    KEILLY. 

Miss  Folliard  then  withdrew  to  her  own  room. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  that  night  a  car- 
riage drew  up  at  the  grand  entrance  of  Corbo  Castle, 
out  of  which  stepped  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  no 
less  a  personage  than  the  Red  Rapparee.  They  ap- 
proached the  hall  door,  and,  after  giving  a  single  knock, 
it  was  opened  to  them  by  the  squire  himself,  who,  it 
would  seem,  had  been  waiting  to  receive  them  private- 
ly.    They  followed  him  in  silence  to  his  study. 

Mr.  Folliard  though  a  healthy  looking  man,  was, 
in  point  of  fact,  by  no  means  so.  Of  a  nervous  and 
plethoric  habit,  though  brave,  and  even  intrepid,  yet  he 
was  easily  affected  by  anything  or  any  person  that  was 
disaofreeable  to  him.  On  seeing-  the  man  whose  hand 
had  been  raised  against  his  life,  and,  what  was  still 
more  atrocious,  whose  criminal  designs  upon  the  honor 
of  his  daughter  had  been  proved  by  his  violent  irruption 
into  her  chamber,  he  felt  a  suffocating  sensation  of  rage 
and  horror  that  nearly  overcame  him. 

*^  Sir  Robert,"  he  said,  "  excuse  me  ;  the  sight  of  this 
man  has  sickened  me.  I  got  your  note,  and  in  your 
society,  and  at  your  request,  I  have  suffered  him  to 
come  here ;  under  your  protection,  too.  May  God  for- 
give me  for  it !  The  room  is  too  close — I  feel  unwell — 
pray  open  the  door." 

*'  Will  tliere  be  no  risk,  sir,  in  leaving  the  door  open  ?  " 
said  the  baronet. 

*'  None  in  the  world  !  I  have  sent  the  servants  all  to 
bed  nearly  an  hour  ago.  Indeed  the  fact  is,  they  are 
seldom  up  so  late,  unless  when  I  have  company." 

Sir  Robert  then  opened  the  door — that  is  to  say,  he 
left  it  a  little  more  than  ajar,  and  returning  again  took 
his  seat. 

'^  Don't  let  the  sight  of  me  frighten  you,  sir,"  said  the 
Rapparee.  ^'I  never  was  your  enemy,  nor  intended 
you  harm.'* 

*'  Frighten  me  !  "  replied  the  courageous  old  squire  ; 


WILLY    REILLY.  101 

^'no,  sir,  I  am  not  a  man  very  easily  frightened  ;  but  I 
will  confess  that  the  sight  of  you  has  sickened  me,  and 
filled  me  with  horror." 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"said  the  baronet,  ^'  let  this 
matter,  this  misunderstanding,  this  mistake,  or  rather 
this  deep  and  diabolical  plot  on  the  part  of  the  Jesuit, 
Reilly,  be  at  once  cleared  up.  We  wish,  that  is  to  say, 
I  wish,  to  prevent  your  good  nature  from  being  played 
upon  by  a  designing  villain.  Now,  O'Donnel,  relate, 
or  rather  disclose,  candidly,  and  truly,  all  that  took 
place  with  respect  to  this  damnable  plot  between  you 
and  Reillv." 

"•  Why,  the  thing,  sir,"  said  the  Rapparee,  addressing 
himself  to  the  squiro,  ''  is  very  plain  and  simple  ;  but. 
Sir  Robert,  it  was  not  a  plot  between  me  and  Reilly — 
the  plot  was  his  own.  It  appears  that  he  saw  your 
daughter,  and  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and 
knowin'  your  strong  feeling  against  Catholics,  he  gave 
up  all  hopes  of  being  made  acquainted  with  Miss  Fol- 
Hard  or  of  getting  into  her  company.  Well,  sir,  aware 
that  you  were  often  in  the  habit  of  goin'  to  the  town  of 
Boyle,  he  comes  to  me  and  says,  in  the  early  part  of  that 
day, '  Randal,  I  will  give  you  fifty  goolden  guineas  if  you 
help  me  in  a  plan  I  have  in  my  head.'  Now,  fifty  goold- 
en guineas  isn't  easy  earned  :  so  I,  not  knowing  what  the 
plan  was  at  the  time,  tould  him  I  could  say  nothing  till  I 
heard  it.  He  then  tould  me  that  he  was  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  your  daughter,  and  that  have  her  he 
should,  if  it  cost  him  his  life.  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  and  how 
can  I  help  you  ?  '  '  Why,'  said  he,  ^  I'll  show  you  that ; 
her  ould  persecutin'  scoundrel  of  a  father  '—excuse  me, 
sir — I'm  givin'  his  own  words — " 

'^  I  believe  it,  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  th«  baronet,  ^'for 
these  are  the  identical  terms  in  which  he  told  me  the 
stor}^  before  ;  proceed,  O'Donnel." 

*^  '  The  ould  scoundrel  of  a  father,'  says  he,  '  on  his 
return  from  Boyle,  generally  comes  by  the  ould  road, 


102  AVILLY   REILLY. 

because  it  is  the  shortest  cut.  Do  you  and  your  men 
lie  in  wait  in  the  ruins  of  the  ould  chapel,  near  Loch 
na  Garran,^ — it  is  called  so,  sir,  because  they  say  there's 
a  wild  horse  in  it  that  comes  out  o'  moonlight  nights 
to  feed  on  the  p  atches  of  green  that  are  here  and  there 
among  the  moors — '  near  Loch  na  GarraUy^  says  he  ; 
'  and  when  he  gets  that  far  turn  out  upon  him, 
charge  him  with  transportin'  your  uncle,  and  when 
you  are  levellin'  your  gun  at  him,  I  will  come  by  the 
way,  and  save  him.  You  and  I  must  speak  angry 
to  one  another,  you  know ;  then,  of  course,  I  must  see 
him  home,  and  he  can't  do  less  than  ask  me  to  dine 
with  him.  At  all  events,  thinkin'  that  I  saved  his  life, 
we  will  become  acquainted.'" 

The  squire  paused  and  mused  for  some  time,  and 
then  asked,  '^  Was  there  no  more  than  this  between 
you  and  him  ?  " 

''Nothing  more,  sir." 

"  And  tell  me,  did  he  pay  you  the  money?  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  replied  the  Rapparee,  pulhng  out  a 
rag  in  which  were  the  precise  number  of  guineas  men- 
tioned. 

"But,"  said  the  squire,  "we  lost  our  way  in  the 
fog." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Eapparee,  "  everything  turned 
out  in  his  favor.  That  made  very  little  difference. 
You  would  have  been  attacked  in  or  about  that  place, 
whether  or  not." 

"Yes,  but  did  you  not  attack  my  house  that 
night?  Did  not  you  yourself  come  down  by  tlie  sky- 
light, and  enter,  by  violence,  into  my  daughter's 
apartment?" 

"Well  when  I  heard  of  that,  sir,  I  said,  'I  give 
Reilly  up  for  inger]uity.'  No,  sir,  that  was  In'sown 
trick ;  but  after  all,  it  was  a  bad  one,  and  tells 
aginst  itself  Why,  sir,  neither  I  nor  any  of  my  men 
have  the  power  of  makin' ourselves  invisible.     Do  }'ou 


WILLY   KEILLY.  103 

tliink,  sir — I  put  it  to  your  own  common  sense — that 
if  we  had  been  there  no  one  would  have  seen  us  ? 
Wasn't  the  wliole  country  for  miles  round  searched 
and  scoured,  and  I  ask  you,  sir,  was  there  hilt  or  hair 
of  me  or  any  one  of  my  men  seen,  or'  even  heard  of  1 
Sir  Robert,  I  must  be  going  now,"  he  added.  "  I 
hope  Squire  Folliard  understands  what  kind  of  a  man 
Reilly  is.     As  for  myself,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

''Don't  go  yet,  O'Donnel,"  said  Whitecraft:  ''let 
us  determine  what  is  to  be  done  with  him.  You  see 
clearly  it  is  necessary,  Mr.  Folliard,  that  this  deep- 
designing  Jesuit  should  be  sent  out  of  the  country." 

"  I  would  give  half  my  estate  he  was  fairly  out  of 
it,^'  said  the  squire.  "  He  has  brought  calamity  .  and 
misery  into  my  family.  Great  heavens  !  how  I  and 
mine  have  been  deceived  and  imposed  upon  !  Away 
with  him — a  thousand  leagues  away  with  him  !  And 
that  quickly,  too  !  O  the  plausible,  deceitful  villain  ! 
My  child  !  my  child  !  And  here  the  old  man  burst  into 
tears  of  the  bitterest  indignation.  Sir  Robert,  that 
d — d  villain  was  born,  I  fear,  to  be  the  shame  and 
destruction  of  my  house  and  name." 

*' Don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  baronet. 
"  On  the  day  he  dined  here — and  you  cannot  forget 
my  strong  disinclination  to  meet  him-^— but  even  on  that 
day  you  will  recollect  the  treasonable  language  he  used 
against  the  laws  of  the  realm.  After  my  return  home 
I  took  a  note  of  them,  and  I  trust  that  you,  sir,  will 
corroborate,  with  respect  to  this  fact,  testimony  which 
it  is  my  purpose  to  give  against  him.  I  say  this  the 
rather,  Mr.  Folliard,  because  it  might  seriously  com- 
promise your  own  character  with  the  Government,  and 
as  a  magistrate,  too,  to  hear  treasonable  and  seditious 
language  at  your  own  table,  from  a  Papist  Jesuit,  and 
yet  to  decline  to  report  it  to  the  authorities." 

"  The  laws,  the  authorities,  and  you  be  d — d,  sir  !  " 
replied  the  squire ;   "my  table  is,   and  has  been,  and 


104  WILLY    REILLY. 

ever  will  be,  tlie  altar  of  confidence  to  my  guests  :  I 
shall  never  violate  the  laws  of  hospitality.  Treat  the 
man  fairly,  1  say  ;  concoct  no  plot  against  him,  bribe 
no  false  witnesses;  and  if  he  is  justly  amenable  to 
the  law  I  will  spend  ten  thousand  pounds  to  have  him 
sent  anywhere  out  of  the  country." 

*'  He  keeps  arms,"  observed  Sir  Robert,  *'  contrary  to 
the  penal  enactments." 

**  I  think  not,"  said  the  squire  ;  ''he  told  nie  he  was 
on  a  duck-shooting  expedition  that  night,  and  when  I 
asked  him  where  he  got  his  arms,  he  said  that  his  neigh- 
bor, Bob  Gosford,  always  lent  him  his  gun  whenever 
he  felt  disposed  to  shoot,  and,  to  my  own  knowledge, 
so  did  many  other  Protestant  magistrates  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, for  the  d — d  Jesuit  is  a  favorite  with  most  of 
them." 

''  But  I  know  where  he  has  arms  concealed,"  said  the 
Rapparee,  looking  significantly  at  the  baronet,  "  and  I 
will  be  able  to  find  them,  too,  when  the  proper  time 
comes." 

"  Ha  !  indeed,  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert^  with  well- 
feigned  suprise  ;  "  then  there  will  be  no  lack  of  proof 
against  him,  you  may  rest  assured,  Mr.  Folliard.  I 
charge  myself  with  the  management  of  the  whole  afi'air. 
I  trust,  sir,  you  will  leave  it  to  me,  and  I  have  only 
one  favor  to  ask,  and  that  is,  the  hand  of  your  fair 
daughter  when  he  is  disposed  of." 

"  She  sliall  be  yours.  Sir  Robert,  the  moment  that 
this  treacherous  villain  can  be  removed  by  the  fair 
operations  of  the  laws  ;  but  I  will  never  sanctign  any 
dishonoi-able  treatment  towards  him.  By  the  laws  of 
the  land  let  him  stand  or  fall." 

At  this  moment  a  sneeze  of  tremendous  strength  and 
loudness  was  heard  immediately  outside  the  door ;  a 
sneeze  which  made  the  hair  of  the  baronet  almost  stand 
on  end. 

*'  What  the   devil  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  squire.     ''  By 


WILLY    REILLY.  1()5 

the  great  Eoyne,  I  fear  some  one  has  been  listening, 
after  all" 

The  Rapparee,  alway  apprehensive  of  the  "  authori- 
ties "  started  behind  a  screen,  and  the  baronet,  altliough 
unconscious  of  any  cause  for  terror,  stood  rather  unde- 
cided. The  sneeze,  however,  was  repeated  and  this 
time  it  was  a  double  one. 

"  D — n  it,  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "  liave  you 
not  the  use  of  your  legs  ?  Go  and  see  whether  there 
has  been  an  eavesdropper." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  FoUiard,"  replied  the  doughty  baronet, 
^'  but  your  house  has  the  character  of  being  haunted ; 
and  I  have  a  terror  of  ghosts." 

The  squire  himself  got  up,  and  seizing  a  candle,  went 
outside  the  door,  but  nothing  in  human  shape  was  visi- 
ble. 

''  Come  here,  Sir  Robert,"  said  he ;  *'  that  sneeze  came 
from  no  ghost,  I'll  swear.  Who  the  devil  ever  heard 
of  a  ghost's  sneezing  ?  Never  mind,  though ;  for  the 
curiosity  of  the  thing  I  will  examine  for  myself,  and  re- 
turn to  you  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  accordingly  left  them,  and  in  a  short  time  came 
back,  assuring  them  that  every  one  in  the  house  was  in 
a  state  of  the  most  profound  repose,  and  that  it  was  his 
opinion  it  must  have  been  a  cat. 

''  I  might  think  so  myself,"  observed  the  baronet, 
"  were  it  not  for  the  double  sneeze.  I  am  afraid,  Mr. 
Folliard,  that  the  report  is  too  true — and  that  the  house 
is  haunted.  O'Donnel,  you  must  come  home  with  me 
to-night." 

O'Donnel,  who  entertained  no  apprehension  of  ghosts, 
finding  that  the  ^' authorities"  were  not  in  question, 
agreed  to  go  with  him,  although  he  had  a  small  matter 
on  hand  which  required  his  presence  in  another  part  of 
the  country. 

The  baronet,  however,  had  gained  his  point.  Thf^ 
heart  of  the  hasty  and  unreflecting  squire  had    been 


106  WILLY    EEILLY. 

poisoned,  and  not  one  shadow  of  doubt  remained  on  his 
mind  of  Reilly's  treachery.  And  that  which  convinced 
him  beyond  all  arguments  or  assertions  was  the  fact, 
that  on  the  niglit  of  the  premeditated  attack  on  his 
house  not  one  of  the  Red  Rapparee's  gang  was  seen, 
nor  any  trace  of  them  discovered. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  WARNING AN    ESCAPE. 


Reilly,  in  the  meantime,  was  not  insensible  to  his 
danger.  About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  as  he  Avas 
walking  in  his  garden,  Tom  Steeple  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  approached  him  with  a  look  of  caution  and 
significance. 

''Well,  Tom,"  said  he  ''  what's  tlie  news  I" 

Tom  made  no  reply,  but  catching  him  gently  by  the 

sleeve  of  his  coat,  said/'  Come  wid  Tom  ;  Tom  has  news 

for  you.     Here,  it  is,  in  de  paper  ;  "  and  as  he  spoke, 

he  handed  him  aletter,  the  contents  of  which  we  give: — 

'*  Dearest  reilly — The  dreadful  discovery  I  have 
made,  the  danger  and  treachery  and  vengeance  by  which 
you  are  surrounded,  but,  above  all,  my  inexpressible 
love  for  you,  will  surely  justify  me  in  not  losing  a  mo- 
ment to  write  to  you ;  and  I  select  this  poor  creature 
as  my  messenger  because  he  is  least  likely  to  be  sus- 
pected. It  is  through  him  that  the  discovery  of  the  ap- 
cursed  plot  against  you  has  been  made.  It  appears  that 
he  slept  in  tlie  castle  last  ni^-ht,  as  he  often  does,  and 
having  observed  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  that  terrible 
man,  the  Red  Rapparee,  coming  into  tlie  house,  and  go- 
ing along  with  papa  into  his  study,  evidently  upon  some 
private  business,  he  resolved  to  listen.  He  did  so,  and 
overheard  the  Rapparee  stating  to  papa  that  everything 


WILLY    REILLY.  107 

which  took  place  on  the  evening'  you  saved  his  Hfe, 
and  frustrated  his  other  designs  upon  the  castle,  was  a 
|)lan  preconcerted  by  you  for  the  purpose  of  making 
na  pa's  acquaintance  and  getting  introduced  to  the  family, 
11  order  to  gain  my  affections.  Alas  !  if  you  have  re- 
sorted to  such  a  plan,  you  have  but  too  well  succeeded. 
Do  not,  however,  for  one  moment,  imagine  that  I  yield 
any  credit  to  this  atrocious  falsehood.  It  has  been  con- 
cocted by  your  base  and  unmanly  rival,  Whitecraft,  by 
whom  all  the  proceedings  against  you  are  to  be  con- 
ducted. Some  violation  of  the  penal  laws,  in  connec- 
tion with  carrying  or  keeping  arms,  is  to  be  against  you, 
and  unless  you  are  on  you  guard  you  will  be  arrested 
and  thrown  into  pirison,  and,  if  not  convicted  of  a  capi- 
tal offence  and  executed  like  a  felon,  you  will  at  least 
be  sent  forever  out  of  the  country.  What  is  to  be  done  1 
If  you  have  arms  in  or  about  your  house,  let  them  be 
forthwith  removed  to  some  place  of  concealment.  The 
Rapparee  is  to  get  a  pardon  from  Government,  at  least 
he  is  promised  it  by  Sir  Robert,  if  he  turns  against  you. 
In  one  word,  dearest  Reilly,  you  cannot,  with  safety  to 
your  life,  remain  in  this  country.  You  must  fly  from 
it,  and  immediately,  too.  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come 
this  night,  at  half-past  ten,  to  the  back  gate  of  our  gar- 
den, which  you  will  find  shut,  but  unlocked.  Some- 
thing— is  it  my  hearth — tells  me  that  our  fates  are 
henceforth  inseparable,  whether  for  joy  or  sorrow.  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  I  confess  my  affection  for  you 
to  papa  on  the  evening  you  dined  here,  and  he  was 
not  angry ;  but  this  morning  he  insisted  that  I  should 
never  think  of  you  more,  nor  mention  your  name  ;  he 
says  that  if  the  laws  can  do  it,  he  will  lose  ten  thousand 
pounds,  or  he  will  have  you  sent  out  of  the  country. 
Lanigan,  our  cook,  from  what  motive  I  know  not,  men- 
tioned to  me  the  substance  of  what  I  have  now  written. 
He  is,  it  seems,  a  cousin  to  the  bearer  of  this,  and  got  the 
information  from  him  after  having  had  much  difficul- 


108  ILLY    REILLY. 

ty,  he  says,  in  putting'  it  together.  I  know  not  how  it  is, 
but  I  can  assure  you  that  every  servant  in  the  Castle 
seems  to  know  tliat  I  am  attached  to  you. 

^'  Ever,  my  dearest  Reilly,  yours,  and  yours  only, 
until  death,  Helen  Folll\rd." 

We  need  not  attempt  to  describe  the  sensations  of 
love  and  indignation  produced  by  this  letter.  But  we 
shall  state  the  facts. 

'*  Here,  Tom,"  said  Reilly,  ^'  is  the  reward  for  your 
fidelity,"  as  he  handed  him  some  silver ;  '^  and  mark 
me,  Tom,  don't  breathe  to  a  human  being  that  you 
have  brought  me  a  letter  from  the  Coleen  Bawn.  Go 
into  the  house  and  get  something  to  eat.  But  by  the 
heavens  that  are  over  my  head — ha  ! — what  am  I  say- 
ing! There,  Tom,"  said  he,  restraining  himself, 
''there,    now — go   and  get  one   of  your   bully   din- 


ners." 


^'It  is  true,"  said  he,  ''  too  true.  I  am  doomed — de- 
voted. If  I  remain  in  this  country  I  am  lost.  Yes,  my 
life,  my  love,  my  more  than  life — I  feel  as  you  do,  that 
our  fates,  whether  for  good  of  evil,  are  inseparable. 
Yes,  I  shall  see  you  this  night  if  I  have  life." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded  this  soliloquy  when  his 
namesake,  Ferg-us  Reilly,  disguised  in  such  a  way  as 
prevented  him  from  being  recognized,  approached  him 
in  the  lowly  garb  of  a  baccah  or  mendicant. 

''Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "what  do  you 
want  ?    Go  up  to  the  house  and  you  will  get  food." 

"  Keep  quiet,"  rephed  the  other,  disclosing  himself, 
"  keep  quiet^ — get  all  your  money  into  one  purse — -settle 
your  affairs  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  fly  the  country 
this  night,  or  otherwise  sit  down  and  make  your  will  and 
your  peace  with  God  Almighty,  for  if  3'ou  are  found 
here  by  to-morrow  night  you  sleep  in  Sligo  jail.  Throw 
me  a  few  halfpence,  making  as  it  were  charity. 
Whitecraft  has  spies  among  your   own  laborers,  and 


WILLY    REILLY.  10 13 

you  know  the  danger  I  run  in  comin'  to  you  by  day- 
light. Indeed,  I  could  not  do  it  without  this  disguise. 
To-morrow  night  you  are  to  be  taken  upon  a  warrant 
from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  but  never  mind  ;  as  to 
Whitecraft,  leave  him  to  me.  I  have  a  crow  to  pluck 
with  him." 

"How  is  that,  Fergus?" 

",My  sister,  man — did  you  not  hear  of  it  ?  " 

"No,  Fergus,  nor  I  don't  wish  to  hear  of  it,  for  your 
sake  ;  spare  your  feelings,  my  poor  fellow ;  I  know 
perfectly  well  what  a  hypocritical  scoundrel  he  is." 

"  Well,"  replied  Fergus,  "it  was  only  yesterday  I 
heard  of  it  myself ;  and  are  we  to  bear  this — We  that 
have  hands,  and  eyes,  and  limbs,  and  heai'ts,  and  cour- 
age to  stand  nobly  upon  the  gallows-tree  for  striking 
down  the  villain  who  does  whatever  he  likes,  and  then 
threatens  us  with  the  laws  of  tlie  land  if  we  murmur? 
Do  you  think  this  is  to  be  borne  ?  " 

"  Take  not  vengeance  into  your  own  hand,  Fergus," 
replied  Reilly,  "  for  that  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of 
God  and  man.  As  for  me,  I  agree  with  you  that  I 
cannot  remain  in  this  country.  1  know  the  vast  in- 
fluence which  Whitecraft  possesses  with  the  Govern- 
ment. Against  such  a  man  I  have  no  chance :  this, 
taken  in  connection  with  my  education  abroad,  is 
quite  sufficient  to  make  me  a  marked  and  suspected 
man.  I  will,  therefore,  leave  the  country,  and.  ere  to- 
morrow night,  I  trust,  I  shall  be  beyond  his  reach. 
But,  Fergus,  listen ;  leave  Whitecraft  to  God,  do  not 
stain  your  soul  with  human  blood,  keep  a  pure  heart, 
and  whatever  may  happen,  be  able  to  look  up  to  the 
Almighty  with  a  clear  conscience." 

Fergus  then  left  him,  but  with  a  resolution,  never- 
theless, to  have  vengeance  upon  the  baronet  very  un- 
equivocally expressed  on  his  countenance. 

Having  seriously  considered  his  position  and  all  the 
circumstances   of  danger  connected  with  it,  Reilly  re- 


110  WILLY    EEILLY. 

solved  that  his  interview  that  nig^ht  with  his  beloved 
Cohen  Baivn  should  be  his  last.  He  accordiiio^ly  com- 
municated his  apprehensions  to  an  aged  uncle  of  his 
who  resided  with  him,  and  intrusted  the  management 
of  his  property  to  him  until  some  change  for  the  better 
might  take  pla'ce.  Having  heard  from  Fergus  Reilly 
that  there  were  spies  among  his  own  laborers,  he  ke[)t 
moving  about  and  making  such  observations  as  he 
could  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  When  the  night 
came,  he  had  his  best  horse  saddled,  and  at,  or  rather 
before  the  hour  of  half-past  ten,  he  had  reached  the 
back  gate,  or  rather  door,  of  the  garden  attached  to 
Corbo  Castle.  Having  placed  his  horse's  bridle  within 
a  branch,  he  entered  it  with  no  difficulty  and  traversed 
the  garden  without  being  able  to  perceive  her  whose 
love  was  now,  it  might  be  said,  all  that  life  had  left 
Jiini.  After  ha  vino*  satisfied  himself  that  she  was  not 
in  the  garden,  he  witlidrew  to  an  arbor  or  summer- 
house  of  evergreens,  where  he  resolved  to  wait  until  she 
should  come.  He  did  not  wait  lonsr.  The  latch  of  tlie 
entrance  gate  from  the  front  made  a  noise  ;  ah,  how 
his  heart  beat;  what  a  commotion  agitated  his  whole 
frame  !  In  a  few  moments  she  was  witli  him. 

'^  Reilly,"  said  Coleen  Baivn,  "  I  have  dreadful  news 
to  communicate." 

^'Iknow  all,"  said  he,^' 1  am  to  be  arrested  to- 
morrow nicrlit." 

*^  To-night,  dearest  Reilly,  to-night.  Papa  told  me 
this  evening,  in  one  of  his  moods  of  anger,  that  before 
to-morrow  morning  you  will  be  in  Sligo  jail." 

*'  Well,  dearest  Helen,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  certainly 
making  quick  work  of  it.  But,  even  so,  I  am  pre- 
pared this  moment  to  escape.  I  have  settled  my  affairs, 
left  the  manaofement  of  them  to-mv  uncle,  and  this  in- 
terview  with  you,  my  beloved   girl,  must  be  our  last." 

As  he  uttered  these  mehmclioly  words,  the  tears  came 
to  his  eyes,  for  the  dekr  girl  was  lying  on  his  bosom. 


WILLV    REIJ.LV.  Ill 

''  Tlie  last,"  she  oxcLiimed  '^0  no  ;  It  must  not  be 
the  last.  You  shall  not  go  alone,  dearest  William.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  Be  it  for  life  or  for  death,  I  shall 
accompany  you." 

^'  Dearest   life,"   he    replied,    "  think  of  the   conse 
quences." 

^'  I  think  of  nothing,"  said  Coleen  Bawn,  "  but  my 
love  for  you.  If  you  were  not  surrounded  by  danger 
as  you  are  ;  if  the  whoop  of  vengeance  were  not  on 
your  trail ;  if  death  and  a  gibbet  were  not  in  the  back- 
ground— I  could  part  with  you ;  but  now  that  danger, 
vengeance,  and  death  are  hovering  about  you,  I  shall 
and  must  partake  of  them  with  you.  And  listen, 
Eeilly  ;  after  all,  it  is  the  best  plan.  Papa,  if  I  accom- 
pany you — supposing  that  we  are  taken — will  relent 
for  my  sake.  I  know  his  love  for  me.  His  affection 
for  me  will  overcome  all  his  prejudices  against  you. 
Then  let  us  fly..  To-night  you  will  be  taken.  Your 
rival  will  triumph  over  both  of  us ;  and  I — I — 0,  I 
shall  not  survive  it.  Save  me,  then,  Reilly,  and  let 
me  fly  with  you." 

^'  God  knows,"  replied  Reilly,  with  deep  emotion, 
^^  if  I  suffered  myself  to  be  guided  by  the  impulse  of 
my  heart,  I  would  yield  to  wishes  at  once  so  noble  and 
disinterested.  I  cannot,  however,  suffer  my  aftection, 
absorbing  and  inexpressible  as  it  is,  to  precipitate  your 
ruin.  I  speak  not  of  myself,  nor  of  what  I  may 
sufler.  When  we  reflect,  however,  my  beloved  girl, 
upon  the  state  of  the  country  and  of  the  law,  as  it 
operates  against  the  liberty  and  property  of  Catholics, 
we  must  both  admit  the  present  impossibility  of  an 
elopement  without  involving  you  in  disgrace.  Y^ou 
know  that  until  some  relaxation  of  the  laws  affecting 
marriage  between  Catholics  and  Protestants  takes  place, 
a  union  between  us  is  impossible  ;  and  this  fact  it  is 
which  would  attach  disgrace  to  you,  and  a  want  of 
honor,    principle,   and  gratitude  to   me.     We   should 


112  WILLY    REILLY. 

necessarily  lead  the  lives  of  the  guilty,  and  seek  the 
wildest  fastnesses  of  the  mountain  solitudes,  and  the 
oozy  caverns  of  the  bleak  and  solitary  hills." 

**  But  I  care  not.  I  am  willing  to  endure  it  all  for 
your  sake  !" 

'*  What ! — the  shame,  the  misinterpretation,  the  iiu 
puted  guilt  ?" 

"Neither  care  I  for  shame  nor  imputed  guilt,  so 
long  as  I  am  innocent,  and  you  safe."' 

*'  Concealment,  my  dearest  girl,  would  be  impos- 
sible. Such  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised  after  us, 
as  would  render  nothing  short  of  positive  invisibility 
capable  of  protecting  us  from  our  enemies.  Then, 
your  father  ? — such  a  step  might  possibly  break  his 
heart — a  calamity  which  would  fill  your  mind  with 
remorse  to  the  last  day  of  your  life  !" 

She  burst  again  into  tears,  and  replied,  "  But  as 
for  you,  what  can  be  done  to  save  you  from  the  toils 
of  your  unscrupulous  and  powerful  enemies  f 

*'To  that,  my  beloved  Helen,  I  must  forthwith  look. 
In  the  meantime,  let  me  gather  patience,  and  await 
some  more  favorable  relaxation  in  the  penal  code.  At 
present,  the  step  you  propose  would  be  utter  destruc- 
tion to  us  both,  and  an  irretrievable  stain  upon  your 
reputation.  You  will  return  to  your  father's  house, 
and  I  shall  seek  some  secure  place  of  concealment, 
until  I  can  safely  reach  the  Continent,  from  wlience 
I  shall  contrive  to  let  you  hear  from  me,  and  in  due 
time  may  possibly  be  able  to  propose  some  mode  of 
meeting  in  a  country  where  the  oppressive  laws  that 
separate  us  here  shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of  our 
happiness.  In  the  meantime,  let  our  hearts  be  guided 
by  hope  and  constancy."  After  a  mournful  and  ten- 
der embrace  they  separated. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  agony  of  the 
lovers  after  a  separation  wliich  might  probably  be 
their  last.     Our  readers,  however,  may  very  well  con- 


WILLY    REILLY. 


cpive  it,  and  it  is  not  our  intention  to  describe  it  here. 
At  this  ,  stage    of  our  story,    Reilly,  who  was,  as  we 
have   said,  in    consequence  of  his   gentlemanly  man- 
ners and  liberal  principles,  a  favorite  with  all    classes 
and   all   parties,  and    entertained    no    apprehensions 
from  the    dominant   party,  took  his  way  homewards, 
deeply  impressed  with  the  generous  affection  which 
his  Coleen  Bawn  had  expressed  for  him.     He  conse- 
quently looked  upon  himself  as  perfectly  safe  in  his 
own  house.     The  state  of  society  in  Ireland,  however, 
was  at   that  melancholy  period  so  uncertain,  that  no 
Roman  Catholic,  however  popular,  or  however  inno- 
cent, could  for  one  week  calculate   upon  safety,  either 
to  his  property  or  person,  if  he  happened  to  have  an 
enemy   who  possessed  any  influence  in  the  opposing 
Church.     Religion  thus  was   made  the  stalking  horse, 
not  only  of  power,  but  of  persecution,  rapacity,  and 
selfishness,  and  the  unfortunate   Roman  Cathohc  who 
considered   himself    safe  to-day,  might   find    himself 
ruined  to-morrow,  owipg  to  the  cupidity  of  some  man 
who  turned  a  lustful  eye  upon  his  property,  or  who 
may  have    entertained  a  feeling  of  personal   ill-will 
against   him.     Be  this    as  it   may,  Reilly  wended  his 
melancholy  way  homewards,  and  had  got  within  less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  when  he 
was   met   by    Fergus    in  his    mendicant    habit,  who 
startled  him  by  the  information  he  disclosed. 

*'  Where  are  you  bound  for,  Mr.  Reilly  ?"  said  the  lat- 
ter. 

''  For  home,"  repHed  Reilly,  ^'  in  order  to  secure  my 
money,  and  the  papers  connected  with  the  family  pro- 
perty." 

^'  Well,  then,"  said  the  other,  ^'  if  you  go  home  now 
you  are  a  lost  man." 

''  How  is  that !"  asked  Reilly. 

"Your  house  at  this  moment  is  filled  with  sojers, 
and  surrounded  by  them,  too.    You  know  that  no  lunnan 


114  WILLY    REILLY. 

being"  could  make  me  out  in  this  disguise  ;  I  had  heard 
that  they  were  on  their  way  to  your  place,  and  afeard 
that  they  might  catch  you  at  home,  I  was  goin'  to  let 
you  know,  in  ordher  that  you  might  escape  them,  but 
I  was  too  late  ;  the  villains  were  there  before  me  I 
took  heart  o'  grace,  however,  and  went  up  to  beg  a  lit- 
tle charity  for  the  love  and  honor  of  God.  Seein'  the 
kind  of  creature  I  was,  they  took  no  notice  of  me ;  for 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  they  were  too  much  bent  on 
searchin'  for,  and  fin  din'  you.  God  protect  us  from 
such  men,  Mr.  Reilly,"  and  the  name  he  uttered  in  a  low 
and  cautious  voice  ;  '*  but  at  all  events,  this  is  no  coun- 
try for  you  to  live  in  now.  But  who  do  you  think 
was  the  busiest  and  the  bittherest  man  among  them  f 

^'  Why,  Whitecraft,  I  suppose." 

''  No,  he  wasn't  there  himself — no — but  that  double- 
distilled  traitor  and  villain,  Red  Rapparee,  and  be  d — d 
to  him.  You  see,  then,  that  if  you  attempt  to  go  near 
your  own  house,  you're  a  lost  man,  as  I  said." 

''  I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say.  "  replied  Reilly, 
^'  but  are  you  aware  that  they  committed  any  acts  of 
violence  f  Are  you  aware  that  they  disturbed  my  i^ro- 
perty,  or  ransacked  my  house  !  " 

^' Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  say,"  replied  Fergus, 
^'  for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  afraid  to  trust  myself 
inside,  in  regard  of  that  scoundrel,  the  Rapparee,  who, 
bein'  himself  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  disguises,  I  was 
afraid  miVht  find  me  out." 

^'  Well,  at  all  events,"  said  Reilly,  ^^  with  respect  to 
that,  I  disregard  them.  The  family  papers,  and  other 
available  property,  are  too  well  secreted  for  them  to  se- 
cure tliem.  On  discovering  Whitecraft's  jealousy,  and 
knowing,  as  I  did  before,  his  vindictive  spirit  and  power 
in  this  country,  I  lost  no  time  in  putting  them  in  a  safe 
place.  Unless  they  burn  the  h(uise  they  could  never 
come  at  them. .  But  as  this  fact  is  not  at  all  an  improb- 
able one — so  long  as  Whitecraft  is  my  unscrupulous 


WILLY    REILLY.  115 

and  relentless  enemy — I  shall  seize  upon   tbe  first  op- 
portunity of  placing"  them  elsewhere." 

"  You  ought  to  do  so,"  said  Fergus  ;  "■  for  it  is  not 
merely  Whitecraft  you  have  to  deal  wid^  but  old  Fol- 
]\ard  himself,  who  now  swears  that  if  he  should  lose 
ilf  his  fortune  he  will  either  hang  or  transport  you." 
"  Ah,  Fergus,"  replied  the  other,  ^^  there  is  an  essen- 
tial difference  between  the  characters  of  these  two  men. 
Tlie  father  of  Coleen  Jjawn  is,  when  he  tliinks  himself 
injured,  impetuous  and  unsparing  in  his  resentment ; 
but  when  he  is  an  open  foe,  and  the  man  whom  he  looks 
upon  as  his  enemy  always  knows  what  he  has  to  expect 
from  him.  Not  so  the  other ;  he  is  secret,  cautious, 
cowardly,  and  consequently  doubly  vindictive.  He 
is  a  combination  of  the  fox  and  the  tiger,  with  all  the 
treacherous  cunning  of  the  one,  and  the  indomitable 
ferocity  of  the  other,  when  he  finds  that  he  can  make 
his  spring  with  safety." 

This  conversation  took  place  as  Reilly  and  his  com- 
panion bent  their  stejDS  towards  one  of  those  antiquated 
and  obsolete  roads  which  we  have  described  in  the 
opening  portion  of  this  narrative. 

''  But  now,"  asked  Fergus,  "  where  do  you  intend  to 
go,  or  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  yourself?  " 

"I  scarcely  know,"  replied  Reilly,  ^'  but  on  one  thing 
my  mind  is  determined — that  I  will  not  leave  this  coun- 
try imtil  I  know  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  Coleen  Bawn, 
Rather  than  see  her  become  the  wife  of  that  diabolical 
scoundrel,  whom  she  detests  as  she  does  hell,  I  would 
lose  my  life.  Let  the  consequences  then  be  what  they 
may,  I  will  not  for  the  present  leave  Ireland.  This  res- 
olution I  have  come  to  since  I  saw  her  to-nio-ht.  I  am 
]ier  only  friend,  and,  so  help  me  God,  I  shall  not  suffer 
her  to  be  sacrificed- — murdered.  In  the  course  of  the 
night  we  sliall  return  to  my.  house,  and  look  about  us. 
If  the  coast  be  clear  I  will  secure  mycasli  and  papers, 
as  I  said.     It  is  possible  that  a  few  stragglers  may  lurk 


116  WILLY    EEILLY. 

behind,  under  the  expectation  of  securing  me  while 
making  a  stolen  visit.  However,  we  shall  try.  We 
are  under  the  scourge  of  irresponsible  power,  Fergus  ; 
and  if  Whitecraft  should  burn  my  house  to-night  or  to- 
morrow, who  is  to  bring  him  to  an  account  for  it,  or  if 
they  should,  who  is  to  convict  him  !  " 

The  night  had  now  become  very  dark,  but  they  knew 
the  country  well,  and  soon  found  themselves  upon  the 
old  road  they  were  seeking. 

^'  I  will  go  up,"  said  Reilly,  ''  to  the  cabin  of  poor 
Widow  Buckley,  Avhere  we  will  stop  until  we  think  those 
bloodhounds  have  gone  home.  She  has  a  free  cottage 
and  garden  from  me,  and  has  besides  been  a  pensioner 
of  mine  for  some  time  back,  and  I  know  I  can  depend 
upon  her  discretion  and  fidelity.  Her  little  place  is  re- 
mote and  solitary,  and  not  more  than  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  from  us." 

They  accordingly  kept  the  old  road  for  some  time, 
until  they  reached  a  point  of  it  where  there  was  an  ab- 
rupt angle,  when  to  their  utter  alarm  and  consternation, 
they  found  themselves  within  about  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  of  a  military  party. 

^'Fly,"  whispered  Fergus,  ''and  leave  me  to  deal  with 
them — if  you  don't  it's  all  up  with  you.  They  won't 
know  me  from  Adam,  but  they'll  know  you  at  a  glance." 

^'I  cannot  leave  you  in  danger,"  said  Keilly. 

'^  You're^  mad,"  replied  the  other.  "  Is  it  an  ould  beg- 
german  they'd  meddle  with  !  Off  with  you,  unless 
you  wisli  to  sleep  in  Sligo  jail  before  mornin'." 

Reilly,  who  felt  too  deeply  the  truth  of  what  he  said, 
bounded  ai^ross  the  bank  which  enclosed  the  road  on 
the  right-hand  side,  and  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  tol- 
erably higli  one,  but  fortunately  without  bushes.  In 
the  meantime  a  voice  cried  out,  ^'D — n  you,  who  goes 
there  ?  Stand,  at  your  peril,  or  you  will  have  a  dozen 
bullets  in  your  carcass." 

Fergus  advanced  towards  them,  whilst  they  them- 


WILLV    RKILLY.  117 

selves  approached  lilm  at  a  rapid  pace,  until  they  mei. 
In  a  moment  they  were  all  about  him. 

*'  Come  my  customer,"  said  their  leader,  "  who  and 
what  are  you f     Quick — give  an  account  of  yourself." 

''  A  poor  crature  that's  looking  for  my  bit,  sir>  God 
help  me." 

"  What's  your  name  f  " 

"  One  Paddy  Brennan,  sir,  plaise  your  honor." 

''  Ay — one  Paddy  Brennan,  (hiccough),  and — and — 
one  Paddy  Brennan,  where  do  you  go  of  a  Sunday  ^  " 

'^  I  don't  go  out  at  all,  sir,  of  a  Sunda' ;  wherever  I 
stop  of  a  Saturday  night  I  alwa^^s  stop  until  Monday 
mornin'." 

^'  I  mean,  are  you  a  Papish  ?  " 

"Troth,  I  oughtn't  to  say  I  am,  your  honor — or  at 
least  a  very  bad  one." 

"  But  you  are  a  Papish  I " 

"  A  kind  of  a  one,  sir." 

"  D — n  me,  the  fellow's  humbuggin'  you,  sergeant," 
said  one  of  the  men  ;   "  to  be  sure,  he's  a  Papish." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  several  of  the  others,  *^  doesn't 
he  admit  he's  a  Papish  ?  " 

"  D — n  me  if — if — Til  bear  this,"  replied  the  ser- 
geant. "  I'm  as  senior  off — off — officer  conductin'  the 
examination,  and  I'll  suffer  no — no — man  to  intherfare. 
I  must  have  subor — or — ordination,  or  I'll  know  what 
for.  Leave  him  to  me,  then,  and  I'll  work  him  up,  never 
fear.  George  Johnston  isn't  the  blessed  babe  to  be  im- 
posed upon — that's  what  I  say.  Come,  my  good  fellow, 
mark — mark  me  now.  If  you  let  but  a  quarther  of — 
of — an  inch  of  a  d — d  lie  out  of  your  lips,  you're  a  dead 
man.     Are  you  all  charged  gentlemen  I  " 

"All  charged,  sergeant,  with  loyalty  and  poteen  at 
any  rate  ;  d — n  the  Pope." 

*' Shoulder  arms — well  done.  Present  arms.  Where 
is — is — this  rascal !  0  yes,  here  he  is.  Well,  you  are 
there — are  you  ?  " 


118  WILLY    REILLY. 

''  I'm  here,  captain." 

''Well,  d — n  me,  that's  not — not — bad,  my  good  fel- 
low ;  if  I'm  not  a  captain,  worse  men  have  been  so  (hic- 
cough) ;  that's  what  I  say." 

*'  Hadn't  we  better  make  a  prisoner  of  him  at  once, 
and  brinof  him  to  Sir  Robert's  ? "  observed  another, 

^^  Simpson,  hold — old — yom-  tongue,  I  say.  D — n  me 
if  I'll  suffer  any  man  to  intherfare  with  me  in  the  dis- 
charge of  my  duty." 

'^  How  do  you  know,"  said  another,  "  but  he's  a  Eap- 
paree  in  disguise  ? — for  that  matther,  he  may  be  Reilly 
himself". 

^'Captain  and  gintlemen,"  said  Fergus,  ''if  you 
have  any  suspicion  of  me,  I'm  willing  to  go  anywhere 
you  like  ;  and  above  all  things,  I'd  like  to  go  to  Sir 
Robert's,  becaise  they  know  me  there — ^many  a  good 
bit  and  sup,  I  got  in  his  kitchen." 

^'  Ho,  ho  !  "  exclaimed  the  sergeant;  ^'  now  I  have 
you — now  I  know  wdiether  you  can  tell  truth  or  not. 
Answer  me  this.  Did  ever  Sir  Robert  himself  give  you 
charity  ?     Come  now^" 

Fergus  perceived  the  drift  of  the  question  at  once. 
The  penurious  character  of  the  baronet  w^as  so  w^ell 
known  throughout  the  whole  barony,  that,  if  he  had  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative,  every  man  of  them  would  have 
felt  that  the  assertion  was  a  lie,  and  he  would  conse- 
quently have  been  detected.    He  was  prepared  however. 

**  Troth,  then,  gintlemen,"  he  replied,  '^  since  you 
must  have  the  truth,  and  although  maybe  what  I'm 
goin'  to  say  won't  be  plaisin'  to  you,  as  Sir  Robert's 
friends,  I  must  come  out  w^id  it ;  devil  resave  the  color 
of  his  monev  ever  I  seen  yet,  and  it  isn't  but  often  I 
axed  him  for  it.  No  ;  but  the  sarvints  often  sind  me  up  a 
bit  from  tlie  kitchen  below." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  the  sero^eant,  "  if  you  have  been 
lyin'  all  3^our  life,  you've  spoke  the  truth  now.  I  think 
we  may  let  him  go." 


WILLY    KEILLV.  1  1  i^ 

^'I  don't  think  we  ought,"  said  one  of  tliem,  named 
Steen,  a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  of  Dutch 
descent ;  '*  as  Barnet  said,  we  don't  know  what  he  is,  and 
I  agree  with  him.  He  may  be  a  Rapparee  in  disguise, 
or  what  is  w^orse,  Reill}^  himself." 

"AVhat  Reilly  do  yez  mane,  gintlemen,  wid  submis- 
sion !  "  asked  Fergus. 

''Why,  Willy  Reilly,  the  d— d  Papish,"  replied  the 
sergeant.  (We  don't  wish  to  fatigue  the  reader  with 
his  drunken  stutterings).  ''  It  has  been  sworn  that  he's 
training  the  Papishes  every  night  to  prepare  them  for 
rebellion,  and  there's  a  warrant  out  for  his  apprehension. 
Do  you  know  him  f  " 

^'  Troth  I  do,  well ;  and,  to  tell  yez  the  truth,  he  doesn't 
stand  very  high  wid  his  own  sort." 

""  Why  so,  my  good  fellow  *?  " 

'*  Becaise  they  think  that  he  keeps  too  much  com- 
pany wid  Prodestans,  an'  that  he's  half  a  Prodestan  him- 
self, and  that  it's  only  the  shame  that  prevents  him 
from  goin'  over  to  them  altogether.  Indeed,  it's  the 
general  opinion  among  the  Catholics — " 

^'  Papishes  ! — you  old  dog." 

'^  Well,  then,  Papishes — that  Ire  wall — an'  troth  I  don't 
think  the  Papishes  would  put  much  trust  in  the  same 
man." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for  now^  and  what  brings  you 
out  at  an  illegal  hour  on  this  lonely  road  ?  "  asked  Steen. 

^'  Troth,  then,  I'm  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Graham's 
above;  for  sure,  whenever  I'm  near  him,  poor  Paddy 
Brennan  never  wants  for  the  good  bit  and  sup,  and  the 
comfortable  straw  bed  in  the  barn.  May  God  reward 
him  and  his  for  it." 

Now,  the  truth  was,  that  Graham,  a  wealthy  and  re- 
spectable Protestant  farmei',  was  uncle  to  the  sergeant; 
a  fact  w^hich  Fergus  well  knew,  in  consequence  of  hav- 
ing been  a  house-servant  with  him  for  two  or  three 
years. 


120  WILLY    REILLY. 

'*  Sergeant,"  said  the  Williamite  settler,  *'  I  tliink  this 
matter  may  be  easily  settled.  Let  two  of  tlie  men  go 
back  to  your  uncle's  with  him,  and  see  whether  they 
know  him  there  or  not." 

it  Yerj  well,"  replied  the  sergeant,  ''  let  you  and 
Simpson  go  back  with  him — I  have  no  objection.  If 
my  uncle's  people  donH  know  him,  wliy  then  bring  him 
down  to  Sir  Robert's." 

'^  It's  not  fair  to  put  such  a  task  upon  a  man  of  my 
age,"  replied  Steen,  '^  when  you  know  that  you  have 
younger  men  here." 

'^  It  was  you  who  proposed  it,  then,"  said  the  sergeant, 
"  and  d — n  me,  if  you  be  a  true  man,  you  liave  a  right 
to  go,  and  no  right  at  all  to  shirk  your  duty.  But  stop — 
I'll  settle  it  in  a  word's  speaking  :liere  you — you  old  Pa- 
pish,  where  are  you  ? — 0  I  see — you're  there,  are  you  ? 
Come,  now,  gentlemen,  shoulder  arms — all  right — pre- 
sent arms.  Now,  you  d — d  Papish,  you  say  that  you 
have  often  slept  in  my  uncle's  barn  ?  " 

"  Is  Mr,  Graham  your  uncle,  sir? — becaiseif  he  is,  I 
know  that  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  respectable  man." 

^'  Come,  now — was  there  anything  particular  in  the 
inside  of  that  barn  f — Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  to 
slap  in  to  him,  if  we  find  him  to  be  an  imposther  I " 

^'  All  ready,  sergeant." 

"Come,  now,  you  d — d  Papish,  answer  me — " 

*'  Troth,  and  I  can  do  that,  sergeant.  You  say  Mr. 
Graham's  your  uncle,  an'  of  course,  3^ou  have  often 
been  in  the  barn  yourself.  Very  well,  sir,  don't  3'ou 
know  that  there's  a  prop  on  one  side  to  keep  up  one  of 
the  cupples  that  gave  way  one  stormy  night,  and  that 
there's  a  round  hole  in  the  lower  part  of  the  door  to 
let  the  cats  in  to  settle  accounts  with  the  mice  and 
rats?" 

''  Come,  come  bovs,  it's  all  rio^ht.  He  has  described 
the  barn  to  a  hair.  That  will  do,  my  Papish  old  cock. 
D — n  me,  as  every  man  must  have  a  religion,  and  since 


WILLY    REILLY.  121 

the  Papislies  won't  have  ours,  wliy  the  devil  shouldn't 
they  have  one  of  their  owu  f 

"That's  dangerous  talk,"  said  Steen,  '*to  proceed 
from  your  lips,  sergeant.  It  smells  of  treason,  I  tell  you; 
and  if  you  had  spoken  tliose  words  in  the  days  of  the 
great  and  good  King  William,  you  might  have  felt  the 
consequences." 

"  Treason  and  King  William  be  d — d  !"  replied  the 
sergeant,  who  was  naturally  a  good-natured,  but  out- 
spoken fellow — '*  sooner  than  I'd  take  up  a  poor  devil 
of  a  beggar,  that  has  enough  to  do  to  make  out  his  bit 
and  sup.  Go  on  about  your  business,  poor  devil ;  you 
sha'n't  be  molested.  Go  to  my  uncle's,  where  you'll 
get  a  belly-ful,  and  a  comfortable  bed  of  straw,  and 
a  winnow  cloth  in  the  barn.  D — n  it,  it  would  be  a 
nice  night's  work  to  go  out  for  Willy  Reilly,  and  to 
bring  home  a  beggarman  in  his  place." 

This  was  a  narrow  escape  upon  the  part  of  Fergus, 
who  knew  that  if  they  had  made  a  prisoner  of  him, 
and  produced  him  before  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who 
was  a  notorious  persecutor^  and  with  whom  the  Red 
Rapparee  was  now  located,  he  would  unquestionably 
have  been  hanged  like  a  dog.  The  officer  of  the  party, 
however — to  wit,the  worthy  sergeant — was  one  of  those 
men  who  love  a  drop  of  the  native,  and  whose  heart  be- 
sides it  expands  into  a  sort  of  surly  kindness,  that  has 
something  comical,  and  not  disagreeable  in  it.  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  he  never  felt  a  confidence  in  his  own  au- 
tliority  with  half  the  swagger  whicli  he  did  when  three- 
quarters  gone.  Steen  and  he  were  never  friends,  nor 
indeed  was  Steen  ever  a  popular  man  among  his  ac- 
quaintances. In  matters  of  trade  and  business  he  was 
notoriously  dishonest,  and  in  the  moral  and  social  re- 
lations of  life,  selfish,  uncandid,  and  treacherous.  The 
sergeant,  on  the  other  hand,  thougii  an  out-spoken  and 
flaming  anti-papist  in  theory,  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a 
good  friend   to  his    Roman    Catholic    neighbors,  who 


122  WILLY    REILLY. 

used  to  say  of  him  that  his  bark  was  worse  than  his 
bite. 

When  the  party  had  passed  on,  Fergus  stood  for  a 
moment  uncertain  as  to  where  he  should  direct  his  steps. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait,  however ;  Reilly,  who  had 
no  thoughts  of  abandoning  him  to  the  mercy  of  the 
military,  without  at  least  knowing  his  fate,  nor,  we 
may  add,  without  a  firm  determination  of  raising  his 
tenantry  and  rescuing  the  generous  fellow  at  every 
risk,  immediately  sprang  across  the  ditch,  and  joined 
him.  '^ 

'^  Well,  Fergus,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hands,  "  I  heard 
everything,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  every  nerve  in  my 
body  trembled  whilst  you  were  among  them." 

**  Why,"  said  Fergus,  ^'  I  knew  them  at  once  by  their 
voices,  and  only  that  I  changed  my  own  as  I  did,  I  won't 
say  but  they'd  have  nabbed  me." 

'^  The  test  of  the  barn  was  frightful ;  I  thought  you 
were  gone  ;  but  you  must  explain  that." 

*'  Ay,  but  before  I  do,"  replied  Fergus,  ''  where  are 
we  to  go  ^j     Do  you  still  stand  for  Widow  Buckley's  !" 

^'  Certainly,  that  woman  may  be  useful  to  me." 

*'  Well,  then  we  may  as  well  jog  on  in  that  direction, 
and  as  we  go,  I  will  tell  you." 

^'How,  then,  did  you  come  to  describe  the  barn — 
or  rather,  was  your  description  correct  ?" 

*' Ay,  as  gospel.  You  don't  know  that,  by  the  best 
of  luck  and  providence  of  God,  I  was  two  years  and 
a  half  an  inside  laborer  with  Mr.  Graham  As  is 
usual,  all  the  inside  men  servants  slept,  winther  and 
summer,  in  the  barn  ;  and  that  accounts  for  our  good 
fortune  this  night.  Only  for  that  scoundrel,  Steen, 
however,  the  whole  thing  would  not  have  signified 
much ;  but  he's  a  black  and  deep  villain  that.  No- 
body likes  him  but  his  brother  scoundrel,  Whitecraft, 
and  he's  a  favorite  with  him  becaise  he's  an  active 
and    unscrupulous  tool   in    his   hande,     Many  a  tin^^ 


WILLY    RKILLY.  123 

when  these  men — military — miUtia — yeomen,  or  wliat- 
ever  they  call  them,  are  sent  out  by  this  same  Sir 
Robert,  the  poor  fellows  don't  wish  to  catch  what  they 
call  the  uniortunate  Fapishes,  and  before  they  come  to 
the  house  they'll  fire  off  their  guns,  pretinding  to  be  in 
a  big  passion,  but  only  to  give  their  poor  neighbors 
notice  to  escape  as  soon  as  they  can." 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  Widow  Buckley's 
cabin,  who,  on  understanding  that  it  was  Reilly  who 
sought  admittance,  lost  not  a  moment  in  opening  the 
door  and  letting  them  in.  There  was  no  candle  lit 
when  they  entered,  but  there  was  a  bright  turf  fire 
"  blinkin'  bonnilie"in  the  fireplace,  from  which  a 
mellow  light  emanated,  that  danced  upon  the  few  plain 
plates  that  were  neatly  ranged>aipon  her  humble  dress- 
er, but  wdiich  fell  still  more  strongly  upon  a  clean  and 
well-swept  hearth,  on  one  side  of  which  was  an  hum- 
ble arm-chair  of  straw,  and  on  the  other  a  grave,  but 
placid-looking  cat,  purring,  with  half-closed  eyes,  her 
usual  song  far  the  evening. 

"  Lord  bless  us,  Mr.  Reilly,  is  this  you  ?  Sure  it's 
little  I  expected  yoa  any  way — but  come  when  you 
will,  you're  welcome.  And  who  ought  to  be  welcome 
to  the  poor  ould  widow,  if  you  wouldn't  ?  " 

"  Take  a  stool  and  sit  down,  honest  man,"  she  said,  ad- 
dressing Fergus,  "  and  you,  Mr.  Reilly,  take  my  chair; 
it's  the  one  you  sent  me  yourself,  and  if  anybody  is  en- 
titled to  a  sate  in  it,  surely  you  are.  I  must  light  a  rush." 
''No,  Molly,"  replied  Rei%,  ''I  would  be  too 
heavy  for  your  frail  chair.  I  will  take  one  of  those 
stout  stools,  whicli  will  answer  me  better." 

She  then  lit  a  rush-light,  which  she  pressed  against 
a  small  cleft  of  iron  that  was  driven  into  a  wooden 
shaft,  about  three  feet  long,  which  stood  upon  a  bot- 
_tom,  that  resembled  the  head  of  a  churn  staff.  Such 
are  the  lights,  and  such  the  candlesticks,  that  are  to 
be  found  in  the  cabins  and  cottaores  of  Ireland  ! 


124  WILLY    REILLY. 

''I    suppose,    Molly,"    said    Rellly, '^you   are  sur- 
prised at  a  visit  from  me,  just  now  !  " 

'^  You  know,  Mr.  Reilly,"  slie  replied,  "  that  if  you 
came  in  the  deadest  hour  of  the  night  you'd  be  welcome, 
as  I  said — and  this  poor  man  is  welcome, too — sit  over  to 
the  fire,  poor  man,  and  warm  yourself.  Maybe  youVe 
hungry  ;  if  you  are,  I'll  get  you  something  to  ait." 

'^  Many  thanks  to  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Fergus, 
"  I'm  not  a  taste  hungry,  and  could  ait  nothing  now. 
I'm  much  obliged  to  you  at  the  same  time." 

^^  Mr.  Reilly,  maybe  you'd  like  to  ait  a  bit — I  can 
give  you  a  farrel  of  bread,  and  a  sup  o'  nice  goat's 
milk.  God  preserve  him  from  evil  that  gave  me  the 
same  goats,  and  that's  your  four  qua.rthers,  Mr.  Reilly. 
But  sure  everything  Eihave  either  came  or  comes 
from  your  hand  ;  but  if  I  can't  thank  you,  God  will 
do  it  for  me,  and  that's  betther  still." 

"  No  more  about  that,  Molly,  not  a  word  more. 
Your  long  residence  with  my  poor  mother,  and  your 
affection  for  her  in  all  her  trials  and  troubles,  entitle 
you  to  more  than  that  at  the  hands  of  her  son." 

^'  Mrs.  Buckley,"  observed  Fergus,  "  this  is  a  quiet- 
looking  little  place  you  have  here." 

*' And  it  is  for  that  I  like  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  have 
pace  here,  and  the  noise  of  the  wicked  world  seldom 
reaches  me  here.  My  only  friend  and  companion  here 
is  the  Almighty — praise  and  glory  be  to  his  name," — 
and  here  she  devoutly  crossed  herself—''  barrin',  indeed, 
when  the  light-hearted  girslias  "^  come  a  kailyee  \  wid 
their  wheels,  to  keep  the  poor  ould  woman  company, 
and  raise  her  ould  heart  by  their  light  and  merry  songs, 
the  creatures." 

''  That  must  be  a  relief  to  you,  Molly,"  observed 
Reilly,  who,  however,  could  with  difficulty  take  any 
part  in  this  little  dialogue. 

*  Youne:  girls. 

+  This  means  to  spend  a  portion  of  the  day  or  a  few  hours  of  the  night  in  a  neighbor's  house 
.u  agreeable  and  amusing  conversatioa. 


WILLY    REILLY.  i  - :.  • 

^^  And  SO,  indeed,  it  is,"  she  replied,  '^  and  poor 
things,  sure  if  tlieir  sweethearts  do  come  at  the  dusk  to 
help  them  to  carry  home  their  spining- wheels,  who 
can  be  angry  wid  them  "?  It's  the  way  of  life,  sure,  and 
of  the  world." 

She  then  went  into  another  little  room — for  the  cabin 
was  divided  into  two — in  order  to  find  a  ball  of  woollen 
thread ;  her  principal  occupation  being  the  knitting  of 
mittens  and  stockings,  and  while  bustling  about,  Fergus 
observed  with  a  smile — 

''  Poor  Molly  !  little  she  thinks  that  it's  the  bachelors 
rather  than  any  particular  love  for  her  company,  that 
brink's  the  thieves  here  " 

''  Yes,  but,"  said  Reilly,  ''you  know  it's  the  custom 
of  the  country."  y 

"Mrs.  Bnckley,"  said  Fergus,  "  did  the  sogers  ever 
pay  you  a  visit  ?  " 

"  They  did  once,"  she  replied,  "  about  six  months  ago, 
or  more." 

"What,  in  the  name  of  wondher,"  he  repeated,  "  could 
bring  them  to  you  f  " 

"  They  were  out  huntin'  a  priest,"  she  replied.  "  that 
had  done  something  contrary  to  the  law." 

"  What  did  they  say,  Mrs.  Buckley,  and  how  did 
they  behave  themselves  I  " 

"  Why,"  she  answered,  "they  axed  me  if  I  had  seen 
about  the  country  a  large  woman,  wid  a  blue  cloak, 
striped  petticoat,  an'  a  black  bonnet  on  her,  and  a  pair 
o'  priest's  boots  %  I  said  no,  but  to  the  revarse.  They 
then  searched  the  cabin,  tossed  the  two  beds  about — 
poor  Jemmy's — God  rest  my  boy's  sowl ! — an'  after- 
wards my  own.  There  was  one  that  seemed  to  hold 
authority  over  all  the  rest,  and  he  axed  who  was  my 
landlord."  I  said  I  had  no  landlord.  They  then  said 
that  surely  1  must  pay  "rent  to  some  one,  but  I  said  I 
paid  rent  to  nobody  ;  that  Mr.  Reilly  here,  God  bless 
him,  gave  me  this  house  and  garden  free" 


126  WILLY    REILLY. 

*'  And  what  did  they  say  when  you  named  Mr. 
Reillyf" 

'*  Why,  they  said  he  was  a  decent  Papish,  I  think 
they  called  it ;  and  that  there  wasn't  sich  another 
among  them.  They  then  lighted  their  pipes,  had  a 
smoke,  went  abont  their  business,  and  I  saw  no  more 
of  them  from  that  day  to  this." 

Reilly  felt  that  this  conversation  was  significant  and 
that  the  widow's  cabin  was  anything  but  a  safe  place  of 
refuge,  even  for  a  few  hours.  We  have  already  said  that 
he  had  been  popular  with  all  parties,  which  was  the 
fact,  until  his  acquaintance  with  the  old  squire  and  his 
lovely  daughter.  In  the  meantime,  the  loves  of  AVilly 
Eeilly  and  the  far-famed  Coleen  Baivn  had  gone  abroad, 
heaven  knows  how,  over  the  whole  country ;  and  the 
natural  result  was,  that  a  large  majority  among  those 
who  were  anxious  to  exterminate  the  Catholic  Church, 
by  the  rigor  of  bigoted  and  inhuman  laws,  looked  upon 
the  fact  of  a  tolerated  Papist  daring  to  love  a  Protes- 
tant heiress,  and  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  con- 
sidered such  a  stout  prop  of  the  Establishment,  as  an 
act  that  deserved  death  itself.  Reilly's  affection  for  the 
Coleen  Baivn,  was  considered,  therefore,  not  only  daring 
but  treasonable.  Those  men,  then,  he  reflected,  who 
had  called  upon  her  while  in  pursuit  of  the  unfortunate 
priest,  had  become  acquainted  with  the  fact  of  her  de- 
pendence upon  his  bounty  ;  and  he  took  it  for  granted, 
very  naturally  and  very  properly,  as  the  event  will 
show,  that  now,  while  "  on  his  keeping,"  it  would  not 
be  at  all  extraordinary  if  they  occasionally  searched  her 
remote  and  solitary  cabin,  as  a  place  where  he  might 
be  likely  to  conceal  himself  For  this  night,  however, 
he  experienced  no  apprehension  of  a  visit  from  them, 
but  with  what  correctness  of  calculation  we  shall  soon  see. 

''Molly,"  said  he,  "this  poor  man  and  I  must  sit 
with  you  for  a  couple  of  hours,  after  which  we  will 
leave  you  to  your  rest," 


WILLY    REILLY.  127 

''  Indeed,  Mr.  Reilly,"  she  replied,  ''  from  what  I 
heard  this  day,  I  can  make  a  purty  good  guess  at  the 
raisin  wliy  you  are  here  now,  instead  of  bein'  in  your 
own  comfortable  house.  You  have  bitther  enemies'; 
but  God — blessed  be  his  name — is  stronger  than  any 
of  them.  However,  I  wish  you'd  let  me  get  you  and 
that  poor  man  something  to  ait." 

This  kind  offer  they  declined,  and  as  the  short  rush- 
light was  nearly  burned  out,  and  as  she  had  not  an- 
other ready,  she  got  what  is  called  a  ca7n  or  grisset,  and 
put  it  on  the  hearth-stone,  with  a  portion  of  hog's  lard  in 
it ; — she  then  placed  the  lower  end  of  the  tongs  in  the 
fire,  until  the  broad  portion  of  them,  with  which  the 
turf  is  gripped,  became  red-hot;  she  then  placed  the 
lard  in  the  grisset  between  them,  and  squeezed  it  until 
nothing  remained  but  pure  oil ;  through  this  she  slow- 
ly drew  the  peeled  rushes,  which  were  instantly  satu- 
rated witli  the  grease,  after  which  she  left  them  on  a 
little  table  to  cool.  Among  the  poorer  classes — small 
farmers  and  others — this  process  is  performed  every 
evening,  a  little  before  dusk.  Having  thus  supplied 
them  with  these  lights,  the  pious  widow  left  them  to 
their  own  conversation,  and  retired  to  the  little  room 
in  order  to  repeat  her  rosary.  We  also  will  leave 
thom  to  entertain  themselves  as  best  they  can,  and 
request  our  readers  to  follow  us  to  a  different  scene. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

An   ACCIDEU^TAL    incident    FAVORABLE    TO    REILLY,  AND   A 
CURIOUS    CONVERSATION. 

We  return  to  the  party  from  whom  Fergus  Reilly 
had  so  narrow  an  escape.  As  our  readers  may  expect, 
they  bent  their  steps  to  the  magnificent  residence  of 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.     That  gentleman  was  alone  in 


128  WILLY    REILLY. 

his  library,  surrounded  by  an  immense  collection  of 
books  which  he  never  read.  He  had  also  a  fine  collection 
of  paintings,  of  which  he  knew  no  more  than  his  butler, 
nor  perhaps  so  much.  At  once  sensual,  penurious,  and 
bigoted,  lie  spent  his  whole  time  in  private  profligacy 
— for  lie  was  a  hypocrite,  too — in  racking  his  tenantry, 
and  exhibiting  himself  as  a  championfor  Protestant  prin- 
ciples. Whenever  an  unfortunate  Roman  Catholic, 
whether  priest  or  lay-man,  happened  to  infringe  a  harsh 
and  cruel  law,  of  which,  probably,  he  had  never  heard, 
who  so  active  in  collecting  his  myrmidons,  in  order  to 
uncover,  hunt,  and  run  down  his  luckless  victim  ?  And 
yet  he  was  not  popular.  No  one,  whether  of  his  own 
class  or  any  other,  liked  a  bone  in  his  skin.  Nothing 
could  infect  him  with  the  genial  and  hospitable  spirit 
of  the  country  ;  wdiilst,  at  the  same  time,  no  man  living 
was  as  anxious  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  others, 
merely  because  it  saved  liim  a  meal.  All  that  sustained 
his  character,  at  the  melancholy  period  of  wliich  we 
write,  w^as  what  people  call  the  uncompromising  energy 
of  his  principles  as  a  sound  and  vigorous  Protes- 
tant. 

"  D — n  them  all  together,"  he  exclaimed  upon  this 
occasion,  in  a  kind  of  soliloquy — ''devil  take  Church, 
and  bishop,  and  parson  ;  wdiatare  they  worth  unless  to 
make  the  best  use  we  can  of  them  ?  Here  I  am  pre- 
vented from  going  to  that  girl  to-night — ^and  that  bar- 
barous old  blockhead  of  a  squire,  w^ho  was  so  near 
throwing  me  off  for  a  beggarly  Papist  rebel  ;  and 
doubly,  trebly,  quadruply  d — d  be  that  same  rebel  for 
crossing  my  path  as  he  has  done.  The  d — d  light- 
headed jade  loves  him  too — there  is  no  doubt  of  that,— - 
but  wait  imtil  I  get  him  in  my  clutches,  as  I  certainly 
shall,  and  by — his  rebel  carcass  shall  feed  the  crows. 
But  w^hat  noise  is  that  ?  Thev  have  returned  ;  I  mll^t 
go  down  and  learn  their  success." 

He  was  right.     Our   friend  the  tipsy    sergeant   and 


WILLY    REILLY.  129 

his  party  were  at  the  hall  door,  which  was  opened  as 
lie  went  down,  and  he  ordered  lights  into  the  back 
parlor.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  ushered  in,  where 
they  found  him  seated  as  magisterially  as  possible  in  a 
large  arm-cliair. 

"Well,  Johnston,"  said  he,  assuming  as  much  digni- 
ty as  he  could,  "  what  has  been  your  success  V 

" A  bad  evening's  sport,  sir;  we  bagged  nothing — 
didn't  see  a  feather." 

^^Talk  sense,  Johnston,"  said  he  sternly,  ''and  none 
of  this  cant.  Did  you  see  or  hear  anything  of  the 
rebel  ?  " 

''  Why,  sir,  we  did  ;  it  would  be  a  d — d  nice  busi- 
ness if  a  party,  led  and  commanded  by  George  John- 
ston, should  go  out  without  hearin'  and  seein'  some- 
thing." 

"  Well,  but  what  did  you  see  and  hear,  sir^  " 

''AYhy,  we  saw  Reilly's  house,  sir,  and  a  very  com- 
fortable one  it  is  ;  and  we  heard  from  the  servants  that 
he  wasn't  at  home." 

'^  You're  drunk,  Johnston." 

''No,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  I'm  only  hearty ;  * 
besides,  I  never  discharge  my  duty  half  so  well  as  when 
I'm  drunk  ;  I  fear  no  colors  then." 
,     "  Jolmston,  if  I  ever  know  you  to  get  drunk  on  duty 
again  I  shall  have  you  reduced  " 

^'  Reduced,"  replied  Johnston,  "  d — n  the  fig  I  care 
whether  you  do  or  not ;  I'm  actin'  as  a  volunteer,  and 
I'll  resign." 

"Come,  sir,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "be  quiet;  I  will 
overlook  this,  for  jon  are  a  very  good  man  if  you 
could  keep  yourself  sober." 

"  I  told  you  before,  Sir  Robert,  that  I'm  a.  better 
man  when  I'm  drunk." 

"  Silence,  sir,  or  I  shall  order  3^ou  out  of  the  room." 

*  "  Hearty  "  means  when  a  man  is  slightly  affected  by  drink,  so  as  to  feel  his  spirits  ele-. 
vated. 


130         •  WILLY    RLfLLV. 

"Please  your  honor,"  observed  Steen,  "  I  liave  a 
charge  to  make  against  George  Johnston." 

*'  A  charge,  Steen — what  is  it?  You  are  a  stanch, 
steady  fellow,  I  know — what  is  this  charo-e!  " 

"  Why,  sir,  we  met  a  suspicious  character  on  the  old 
bridle  road  beyond  Reilly's,  and  he  refused  to  take  him 
prisoner." 

"  A  poor  half-papist  beggarman,  sir,"  replied  John- 
ston, "  who  w^as  on  his  way  to  my  uncle's  to  stop  there 
for  the  night.  D — n  the  scarecrow  in  Europe  would 
exchange  clothes  with  him  without  hooV^ 

Steen  then  related  the  circumstances  with  which 
our  readers  are  acquainted,  adding  that  he  suggested 
to  Johnston  the  necessity  of  sending  a  couple  of  men 
up  with  him  to  ascertain  whether  what  he  said  was  true 
or  not ;  but  that  he  flatly  refused  to  do  so — and  after 
some  nonsense  about  a  barn  he  let  him  off. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,'  said  Johnston,  "  I'll  hunt  a 
priest  or  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  hiw  with  any  man 
livin',  but  d — n  me  if  ever  I'll  hunt  a  harmless  beggar- 
man  lookin'  for  his  bit." 

At  this  period  of  the  conversation  the  Eed  Papparee, 
now  in  military  uniform,  entered  the  parlor,  accom- 
panied by  some  others  of  those  violent  men. 

'' Steen,"  said  the  baronet,  *'wdiat  or  who  do  you 
suppose  this  ragged  ruffian  was  ?  " 

"  Either  a  Rapparee,  sir,  or  Reilly  himself" 

"  O'Donnell,"  said  he,  addressing  the  Red  Robber, 
"  what  description  of  disguises  do  these  villains  usually 
assume?     Do  they  often  go  about  as  beggarmen?  " 

"  Thev  mav  have  chanofed  their  hand,  sir,  since  I 
became  a  legal  subject,  but  before  that  three-fourths  of 
us — of  them — the  villains  I  mane — went  about  in  the 
shape  of  beggars." 

"  Tliat's  important,"  exclaimed  the  baronet :  ''  Steen, 
take  half  a  dozen  mounted  men — a  cavalry  party  have 
arrived  here  a  little   while  ago,    and  are  waiting  for 


WILLV    RKILLY.  lol 

further  orders — I  thought  if  Rellly  hiid  been  secured 
it  miglit  liave  been  necessary  for  them  to  escort 
him  to  Sligo.  Well,  take  half  a  dozen  mounted  men, 
and  as  you  very  properly  suggested,  proceed  \Yitli  all 
haste  to  Farmer  Graham's,  and  see  whether  this  mendi- 
cant is  there  or  not ;  if  he  is  there  take  him  into  cus- 
tody at  all  events,  and  if  he  is  not,  then  it  is  clear  he  is 
a  man  for  whom  we  ought  to  be  on  the  lookout." 

''  I  should  like  to  go  with  them,  your  honor,"  said  the 
Red  Rapparee. 

"  O'Donnel,"  said  Sir  Robert,  '^  I  have  other  business 
for  you  to-night." 

"  Well,  plase your  honor,"  said  O'Donnel,  ''as  they're 
goin'  in  that  direction,  let  them  turn  to  the  left  afther 
passin'  the  little  strame  that  crosses  the  road.  I  mane 
on  their  way  home  ;  if  they  look  sharp  they'll  find  a 
little  horeen  that — but  indeed  they'll  scarcely  make  it 
out  in  the  dark,  for  it's  a  good  w^ay  back  in  the  fields — 
I  mane  the  cabin  of  Widow  Buckley.  If  there's  one 
house  more  than  another  in  the  whole  country  side 
where  Reilly  is  likely  to  take  shelter  in,  that's  it.  He 
gave  her  that  cabin  and  a  large  o^arden  free,  and  be- 
sides allows  her  a  small  yearly  pension.  But  remember, 
3^ou  can't  bring  your  horses  wid  you — you  must  lave 
some  of  the  men  to  take  charge  of  them  in  the  horeen 
till  you  come  back.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  go  wid  them, 
sir." 

''  I  cannot,  O'Donnel ;  I  have  other  occupation  for 
you  to-night." 

Three  or  four  of  the  men  declared  that  they  knew 
the  cottage  right  well,  and  could  find  it  out  without 
much  difiiculty.  ^'  They  had  been  there,"  they  said, 
"  some  six  or  eight  months  before,  upon  a  priest  chase." 
The  matter  was  so  arranged,  and  the  party  set  out  up- 
on their  expedition. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  men  had  their 
journey  for  nothing  ;  but  at  the  same  time  one  fact  re- 


132  WILLY    REILLY. 

suited  from  it,  which  was,  that  the  ragged  mendicant 
they  had  met  must  liave  been  some  one  well  worth 
looking  after.  The  deuce  of  it  was,  however,  that,  owing 
to  the  darkness  of  the  night,  there  was  not  one  among 
them  who  could  have  known  Fergus  the  next  day,  if 
they  had  met  him.  They  knew,  however,  that  O'Donnel, 
the  Rapparee,  was  a  good  authority  on  the  subject,  and 
the  discovery  of  the  pretended  mendicant's  imposture 
was  a  proof  of  it. .  On  this  account,  when  they  had 
reached  the  horeen  alluded  to,  on  their  return  from  Gra- 
ham's, they  come  to  the  resolution  of  leaving  their 
horses  in  charge,  as  had  been  suggested  to  them,  and 
in  silence,  and  with  stealthy  steps,  pounced  at  once  into 
the  Widow's  cabin.  Before  they  arrived  there,  how- 
ever, we  shall  take  the  liberty  of  preceding  them  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  once  more  transport  our  readers  to  its 
bright,  but  humble  hearth. 

About  three  hours  or  better  had  elapsed,  and  our  two 
friends  were  still  seated,  maintaininof  the  usual  chat  with 
Mrs.  Buckley,  who  had  finished  her  prayers,  and  once 
more  rejoined  them. 

^'  Fergus,  my  good  fellow,"  whispered  Reilly,  ^^  slip 
out  for  a  minute  or  tv/o  ;  there's  a  circumstance  I  wish 
to  mention  to  Molly — I  assure  you  it's  of  a  very  private 
and  particular  nature,  and  only  for  her  own  ear." 

^'  To  be  sure,"  replied  Fergus  ;  ''  I  want,  at  all  events, 
to  stretch  my  legs,  and  to  see  what  the  night's  about." 

He  accordingly  left  the  cabin. 

^'  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  '^  it  was  not  for  nothing 
I  came  here  to-night.     I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

'' Your  favor's  granted,  sir,"  she  replied, — ^'granted, 
Mr.  Reilly,  even  before  I  hear  it — that  is,  supposin'  al- 
ways tliat  it's  in  my  power  to  do  it  for  you." 

''It  is  simply  to  carry  a  letter — and.be  certain  that 
it  shall  be  delivered  to  the  proper  person." 

''  Well,"  she  replied,  ''sure  that's aisily  done.  And 
where  am  I  to  deliver  it  1 "  she  asked. 


WILLY    REILLY.  133 

*^  That  I  shall  let  you  know  on  some  future  occasion 
— perhaps  within  the  course  of  a  week  or  so." 

'*  Well,  sir,"  she  replied,  '^  I'd  go  twenty  miles  to  de- 
liver it,  and  will  do  so  wid  a  heart  and  a  half." 

^'  Well,  Molly  I  can  tell  you  your  journey  won't  be 
so  far ;  but  there  is  one  thing  you  are  to  observe,  you 
must  never  breathe  it  to  a  human  creature." 

''•  I  thouglit  you  knew  me  better,  Mr.  Reilly." 
*'  It  would  be  impossible,  however,  to  be  too  strict  here, 
because  you  don't  know  how  much  depends  upon  it." 

At  this  moment  Fergus  put  in  his  head  and  said  : 
"  For  God's  sake,    snuff  out  the   candle,  and,   Eeilly, 
fly  !     There  are  people  in  the   next  field  ! — quick  ! — ^ 
quick ! " 

Reilly  snatched  up  his  hat  and  whispered  to  the  widow: 
''  Deny  that  you  saw  me,  or  that  there  was  any  one 
here !  Put  out  the  candle  !  they  might  see  our  figures 
darkening  the  light  as  we  go  out." 

Fergus  and  Reilly  immediately  planted  themselves  be- 
hind a  whitethorn  hedge,  in  a  field  adjoining  the  cabin,  in 
order  to  reconnoitre  the  party,  whoever  they  might  be, 
which  they  could  do  in  safety.  This  act  of  reconnoit- 
ring, however,  was  performed  by  the  ear,  and  not  at  all 
by  the  eye  ;  the  darkness  of  the  night  rendered  that  im- 
possible. Of  course,  the  search  here  was  equ^illy  fruitless. 
"'  Now,"  whispered  Reilly,  '^  we'll  go  in  a  line  parallel 
with  the  road,  but  at  a  safe  distance  from  them,  until 
they  reach  the  cross-roads.  If  they  turn  towards  my 
house  we  are  forewarned,  but  if  they  turn  towards  Sir 
Robert's,  it  is  likely  that  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of 
securing  my  cash  and  papers." 

After  approaching  Reilly's  house  very  cr.utiously  and^ 
with  much  circumspection — not  an  -out-liouse,  or  other 
place  of  concealment,  having  been  left  unexamined — 
they  were  aboijt  to  enter,  when  Reilly,  thinking  that 
no  precaution  on  such  an  occasion  ought  to  be  neglect- 
ed, said: 


134  WILLY    REILLY. 

*'  Fergus,  we  are  so  far  safe ;  but,  uuder  all  circum- 
stances, I  think  it  right  and  prudent  that  you  should 
keep  watch  outside.  Mark  me,  I  will  place  Tom  Cor- 
rigan — you  know  him — at  this  window,  and  if  you  hap- 
pen to  see  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  human  being,  or 
to  hear,  for  instance,  any  noise,  give  the  slightest  pos- 
sible tap  upon  the  glass,  and  that  will  be  sufficient." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  Reilly  entered  the  house  ; 
but  as  it  happened,  Fergus's  office  proved  a  sinecure  ; 
although,  indeed,  when  we  consider  his  care  and  anx- 
iety, we  can  scarcely  say  so.  At  all  events,  Reilly  re- 
turned in  about  half  a  hour,  bearing  under  his  arm  a 
large,  dark  portfolio,  which,  by  the  way,  was  securely 
locked. 

'^  Is  all  right?  "  asked  Fergus. 

"  All  is  right,"  replied  the  other.  '^  The  servants 
have  entered  into  an  arrangement  to  sit  up,  two  in  turn 
each  night,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  give  me  instant  admit- 
tance whenever  I  may  chance  to  come." 

''  But  now,  where  are  you  to  place  these  papers  ?  " 
asked  his  companion.     "That's  a  difficulty." 

"  It  is  I  grant,"  replied  Reilly,  ^*  but  after  what  has 
happened,  I  think  Widow  Buckley's  cabin  the  safest 
place  for  a  day  or  two.  Only  that  the  hour  is  so  un- 
seasonable, I  could  feel  little  difficulty  in  finding  a 
proper  place  of  security  for  them  ;  but  as  it  is,  we  must 
only  deposit  them  for  the  present  with  the  widow," 

The  roads  of  Ireland  at  this  period — if  roads  they 
could  be  called — were  not  only  in  a  most  shameful,  but 
dangerous  state.  In  summer  they  were  a  foot  deep  with 
dust,  and  in  winter  at  least  eighteen  inches  with  mud. 
This,  however,  was  by  no  means  the  worst  of  it.  They 
were  studded,  at  due  intervals,  with  ruts  so  deep,  that 
if  a  horse  happened  to  get  into  one  of  them,  he  went 
down  to  the  saddle-skirts.  They  were  treacherous,  too, 
and  such  as  no  caution  could  guard  against ;  because, 
where  the  whole    surface  of  the  road  was  one  mass  of 


WILLY    REILLY.  135 

mud,  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  these  horse-traps 
at  all.  Then,  in  addition  to  them,  were  deep  gullies 
across  the  road,  worn  away  by  small  rills,  proceeding 
from  rivers  in  the  adjoining  uplands,  wiiich  were  prin- 
cipally dry,  or  at  least  mere  threads  of  water  in  summer, 
but  in  winter  became  pigmy  torrents  that  tore  up  the 
roads  across  which  they  passed,  leaving  them  in  the 
dangerous  state  we  have  described. 

As  Reilly  and  his  companion  had  got  out  upon  the 
road,  they  were  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  not  little 
alarmed,  to  see  a  horse,  without  a  rider,  struggling  to 
extricate  himself  out  of  one  of  the  ruts  in  question. 

*'  What  is  this  1 "  said  Fergus  ;  ^'  be  on  your  guard." 

''  The  horse,"  observed  Reilly,  "  is  without  a  rider  ; 
see  what  it  means." 

Fergus  approached  with  all  due  caution,  and  on  ex- 
amining the  place  discovered  a  man  lying  apparently 
in  a  state  of  insensibility. 

''  I  fear,'^  said  he,  on  returning  to  Reilly,  ^'  that  his 
rider  has  been  hurt :  he  is  lying  senseless  about  two  or 
three  yards  before  the  horse." 

"  Good  God  !"  exclaimed  the  other,''  perhaps  he  has 
been  killed ;  let  us  instantly  assist  him.  Hold  this 
portfolio  whilst  I  render  him  whatever  assistance  I 
can." 

As  he  spoke  they  heard  a  heavy  groan,  and  on  ap- 
proaching found  the  man  sitting,  but  still  unable  to  rise. 

"  You  have  unfortunately  been  thrown,  sir,"  said 
Reilly;  ''I  trust  in  God  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  replied  the  man  ;  "  but  T  was 
stunned,  and  have  been  insensible  for  some  time  ;  how 
long,  I  cannot  say." 

"Good  God  !  sir,"  exclaimed  Reilly.  ''  Is  this  Mr. 
Brown  ? " 

"  It  is,  Mr.  Reilly  ;  for  heaven's  sake,  aid  me  to  my 
limbs — that  is,  if  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  upon  them." 

Reilly  did  so,  but  found    that  he  could  not  stand  or 


136  WILLY    REILLY= 

walk  without  assistance.  The  horse,  in  the  meantime, 
had  extricated  himself. 

^'Come,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Eeilly,  ''  you  must  allow 
me  to  assist  you  home.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  you 
have  not  many  perches  to  go.  This  poor  man  will  lead 
your  liorse  up  to  the  stable." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Reill}',"  replied  the  gentleman, 
^^  and  in  requital  for  your  kindness,  you  must  take  a  bed 
at  my  house  to-night.  I  am  aware  of  your  ^^osition," 
he  added,  in  a  confidential  voice,  "  and  that  you  can- 
not sleep  safely  in  your  own.  With  me,  you  will  be 
safe." 

Reilly  thanked  him,  and  said  that  this  kind  offer  was 
most  welcome  and  acceptable,  as,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
scarcely  knew  that  night  where  to  seek  rest  with  safety. 
They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  parsonage  ;  for  Mr. 
Brown  was  no  other  than  the  Protestant  Rector  of  the 
parish,  a  man  with  whom  Reilly  was  on  the  most  friend- 
ly -and  intimate  terms,  and  a  man,  we  may  add,  who 
omitted  no  opportunity  of  extending  shelter,  protection, 
and  countenance  to  such  Roman  Catholics  as  fell  under 
the  suspicion  or  operation  of  the  law.  On  this  occasion 
he  had  been  called  very  suddenly  to  the  death-bed  of  a 
parishioner,  and  was  then  on  his  return  home,  after  hav- 
ing administered  to  the  dying  man  the  last  consolations 
of  religion. 

On  reaching  the  parsonage,  Fergus  handed  the  port- 
folio to  its  owner,  and  withdrew  to  seek  shelter  in  some 
of  his  usual  haunts  for  the  night ;  but  Mr.  Brown,  aided 
by  his  wife,  who  sat  up  for  him,  contrived  that  Reilly 
should  be  conducted  to  a  private  room  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  servants,  who  were  sent  as  soon  as  possible 
to  bed.  Before  Reilly  withdrew,  however,  that  night, 
he  requested  Mr.  Brown  to  take  charge  of  his  money 
and  family  papers,  which  the  latter  did,  assuring  him 
that  they  should  be  forthcoming  whenever  he  thought 
proper  to  call  for  them.     Mr.  Brown  had  not  been  seri- 


WILLY    REILLY.  137 

ously  hurt,  and  was  able,  in  a  day  or  two,  to  pay  the 
usual  attention  to  the  discliarge  of  liis  duties. 

Reilly,  having*  been  told  where  to  find  his  bed-room, 
retired  with  confidence  to  rest.  Yet  we  can  scarcely 
term  it  rest,  after  considering  the  tumultuous  and  disa- 
greeable events  of  the  evening.  He  began  to  ponder  up- 
on the  life  of  persecution  to  which  Miss  Folliard  must 
necessarily  be  exposed,  in  consequence  of  her  father^s  im- 
petuous and  fiery  temper ;  and,  indeed,  the  fact  was,  that 
he  felt  this  reflection  infinitely  moi'e  bitter  than  any  that 
touched  himself.  In  these  affectionate  calculations  of 
her  domestic  persecution  he  was  a  good  deal  mistaken, 
however.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  had  now  gained  a 
complete  ascendancy  over  the  disposition  and  passions 
of  her  father.  The  latter,  like  many  another  country 
squire — especially  of  that  day — when  his  word  and  will 
were  law  to  his  tenants  and  dependants,  was  a  very  great 
man  indeed  when  dealing  with  them.  He  could  bluster 
and  threaten,  and  even  carry  his  threats  into  execution, 
with  a  confident  swagger  that  had  more  of  magisterial 
pride  and  the  pomp  of  property  in  it,  than  a  sense  of 
either  right  or  justice.  But  on  the  other  hand,  let  him 
meet  a  man  of  his  own  rank,  who  cared  nothing  about  his 
authority  as  a  magistrate,  or  his  assumption  as  a  man  of 
large  landed  property,  and  he  was  nothing  but  a  poor, 
weak-minded  tool  in  his  hands.  So  far  our  description  is 
correct;  but  when  such  a  knave  as  Sir  RobertWhitecraft 
came  in  his  way — a  knave  at  once  calculating,  deceitful, 
plausible,  and  cunning — wh}^,  our  worthy  old  squire, 
who  thought  himself  a  second  Solomon,  might  be  taken 
by  the  nose  and  led  round  the  whole  barony. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  sapiently  laid  down 
his  plans  to  harass  and  persecute  his  daughter  into  a 
marriage  with  Sir  Robert,  and  would  have  probably  driv- 
en her  from  under  his  roof,  had  he  not  received  the 
programme  of  his  conduct  from  Whitecraft.  That  cow- 
ardly caitiff  had  a  double  motive  in  this.     He  found 


138  WILLY    REILLY. 

that  if  her  father  should  ^'pepper  her  with  persecution," 
as  the  old  fellow  said,  before  marriage,  its  consequences 
must  fall  upon  his  own  unlucky  head  afterwards ;  in 
other  words,  that  Helen  would  most  assuredly  make  him 
then  suffer,  to  some  purpose,  for  all  that  his  pretensions 
to  her  hand  liad  occasioned  her  to  undergo  pi'^vious  to 
their  union ;  for  in  truth,  if  there  was  one  doctrine 
which  Whitecraft  detested  more  than  another — and  with 
good  reason,  too — it  was  that  of  Retribution. 

*'  Mr.  FoUiard,"  said  Whitecraft,  in  the  very  last  con- 
versation they  had  on  this  subject,  *'  you  must  not  per- 
secute your  daughter  on  my  account." 

'' Mustn't  I?  Why,  d — n  it,  Sir  Robert,  isn't  perse- 
cution the  order  of  the  day?     By ,  if  slie   doesn't 

marry  you  quietly  and  willingh^,  w^e'll  turn  her  out 
and  hunt  her  like  a  priest." 

"  No,  Mr.  Folliard,  violence  wall  never  do.  On  the 
contrary,  you  must  change  your  hand,  and  try  an  op- 
posite course.  If  you  wish  to  rivet  her  affections  upon 
that  Jesuitical  traitor  still  more  strongly,  persecute  her; 
for  there  is  nothing  in  this  life  that  strengthens  love  so 
mucli  as  opposition  and  violence.  The  fair  ones  begin 
to  look  upon  themselves  as  martyrs,  and  in  proportion 
as  you  are  severe  and  inexorable,  so,  in  proportion,  are 
they  resolved  to  win  the  crown  that  is  before  them.  I 
would  not  press  your  daughter,  but  that  I  believe  love 
to  be  a  thino^  that  exists  before  marriag-e — never  after. 
There's  the  honeymoon,  for  instance.  Did  ever  mortal 
man  or  mortal  woman  hear  or  dream  of  a  second  honey- 
moon I  No,  sir ;  for  Cupid,  like  a  large  blue-bottle, 
falls  into,  and  is  drowned  in  the  lioney-pot." 

'' D — n  me,"  replied  the  squire,  ''if  I  understand  a 
word  you  say.  However,  I  dare  say  it  may  be  very  good 
sense,  for  all  that ;  for  vou  always  had  a  long  noddle. 
Goon." 

"  My  advice  to  you,  then,  sir,  is  this — make  as  few 
allusions  to  her  marriage  with  me  as  possible  ;  but,  in 


Willy  reilly.  139 

the  mean  time,  you  may  praise  me  a  little,  if  you  wish ; 
but,  above  all  things,  don't  run  down  Reilly  imme- 
diately after  paying  my  mind  or  person  any  compliment. 
Allow  the  young  lady  to  remain  quiet  for  some  time. 
Treat  her  with  your  usual  kindness  and  affection,  for 
it  is  possible,  after  all,  that  she  may  do  more  from  her 
tenderness  and  affection  for  you,  than  we  could  ex- 
pect from  any  other  motive,  at  all  events,  until  we  shall 
succeed  in  hanging  or  transporting  this  rebellious  scoun- 
drel." 

'^  Very  good — so  he  is.  Good  heavens !  what  a  son- 
in-law  I  should  have  !  I,  who  have  transported  one 
priest  already !  " 

'^  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying,  until  we  shall  have  suc- 
ceeded in  hanging  or  transporting  him.  The  first  would 
be  the  safest,  no  doubt ;  but  until  we  shall  be  able  to 
accomplish  either  one  or  the  other,  we  have  not  much  to 
expect  in  the  shape  of  compliance  from  your  daughter. 
When  the  villain  is  removed,  however,  hope,  on  her 
part,  will  soon  die  out — love  will  lose  its  pabulumP 

"  Its  what  I "  asked  the  squire,  staring  at  him  with  a 
pair  of  round  eyes  that  were  full  of  perplexity  and  won- 
der. 

*'  Why,  it  means  food,  or  rather  fodder." 

^'  D — n  you,  sir,"  replied  the  squire,  indignantly  ; 
*'^do  you  want  to  make  a  beast  of  my  daughter  *? " 

^'  But  it's  a  word,  sir,  applied  by  the  poets  as  the  food 
of  Cupid." 

"  Cupid  !  I  thought  he  was  drowned  in  the  honey 
pot ;  yet  he's  up  again,  and  as  brisk  as  ever,  it  appears. 
However,  go  on — let  us  understand  fairly  what  you're 
at.  I  think  I  see  a  glimpse  of  it ;  and  knowing  your 
character  upon  the  subject  of  persecution  as  I  do,  it's 
more,  I  must  say,  than  I  expected  from  you.  Go  on 
— I  bid  you." 

^'  1  say,  then,  sir,  that  if  Reilly  were  either  hanged  or 
out  of  the  country,  the  consciousness  of  this  would  soon 


140  WILLY    REILLY. 

alter  matters  with  Miss  Folliard.  If  you,  then,  sir,  will 
enter  into  an  agreement  with  me,  I  shall  undertake  so 
to  make  the  laws  bear  upon  Reilly  as  to  rid  either  the 
world  or  the  country  of  him  ;  and  you  shall  promise  not 
to  press  upon  your  daughter  the  subject  of  her  marriage 
with  me  until  then.  Still,  there  is  one  thing  you  must 
do  ;  and  that  is  to  keep  her  under  the  strictest  5i(rm^toc6." 

''What  the  devil's  that!"  said  the  squire. 

"  It  means,"  returned  his  expected  son-in-law,  "that 
she  must  be  well  watched ;  but  without  feeling  that  she 


IS  so." 


"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  lock  her  up  at  once  !  "  said 
her  father.     "  That  would  be  making  the  matter  sure." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Whitecraft.  "So  sure  as  you 
lock  her  up,  so  sure  she  will  break  prison." 

"Well,  upon  my  soul,"  replied  her  father,  "I  can't 
see  that.  A  strong  lock  and  key  are  certainly  the  best 
surety  for  the  due  appearance  of  any  young  woman  dis- 
posed to  run  away.  I  thing  the  best  way  would  be  to 
make  her  feel  at  once  that  her  father  is  a  magistrate,  and 
commit  her  to  her  own  room  until  called  upon  to  appear." 

Whitecraft,  whose  object  was  occasionally  to  j^uzzle 
his  friend,  gave  a  cold  grin,  and  added  : — 

"  I  suppose  your  next  step  would  be  to  make  her  put 
in  security.  No — no,  Mr.  Folliard  :  if  you  will  be  ad- 
vised by  me,  try  the  soothing  system,  antiphlogistic 
remedies  are  always  the  best  in  a  case  like  hers." 

"  Anti — what  1  D — n  me  if  I  caji  understand  every 
tenth  word  you  say.  However,  I  give  you  great  credit, 
Whitecraft;  for,  upon  my  soul,  I  didn't  think  you  knew 
half  as  much  as  you  do.  That  last,  however,  is  a  tick- 
ler— a  nut  that  I  can't  crack.  I  wish  to  heavens  I 
could  get  my  tongue  about  it,  till  I'd  send  it  among  the 
Grand  Jury,  and  maybe  there  wouldn't  be  wigs  on  the 
green  in  making  it  out." 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  it  would  teach  them  a  little  superero- 
gation." 


WILLY    REILLY.  141 

'*  A  little  what  ?  Is  it  love  tliat  lias  made  you  so 
learned,  Wliitecraft,  or  so  unintelligible — wliichf  Wliy 
man,  if  your  passion  increases,  in  anotlier  week  there 
won't  be  three  men  out  of  Trinity  College  able  to  un- 
derstand you.  You  will  become  a  perfect  oracle.  But, 
in  the  meantime,  let  us  see  how  the  arrangement  stands. 
Imprimis^  you  are  to  hang  or  transport  Reilly ;  and  un- 
til then,  I  am  not  to  annoy  my  daughter  with  any  al- 
lusions to  this  marriage ;  but,  above  all  things,  not  to 
compare  you  and  Reilly  with  one  another  in  her  pre- 
sence, lest  it  might  strengthen  her  prejudices  against 
yoiiP 

^'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  did  not  say  so ; 
I  fear  no  comparison  with  the  fellow." 

^^  No  matter,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  did  not  knock  it 
down  you  staggered  it.  Omitting  the  comparison, 
however,  I  suppose  that  so  far  I  am  right." 

*'  I  think  so,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  conscious,  after 
all,  that  he  had  got  a  touch  of  *'  Roland  for  his  Oliver," 

Then  he  proceeded :  ^'  I'm  to  watch  her  closely, 
only  she's  not  to  know  it.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Sir  Robert,  I  know  you  carry  a  long  noddle,  with  more 
hard  words  in  it  than  ever  t  gave  you  credit  for — but 
with  regard  to  what  you  expect  from  me  now — " 

*^I  don't  mean  that  you  should  watch  her  personally 
yourself,  Mr.  Folliard." 

*'  I  suppose  you  don't :  I  didn't  think  you  did  ;  but, 
I'll  tell  you  what — place  the  twelve  labors  of  Hercules 
before  me,  and  I'll  undertake  to  perform  them,  if  you 
wish ;  but  to  watch  a  woman,  Sir  Robert — and  that 
woman  keen  and  sharp  upon  the  cause  of  such  vigilance 
— without  her  knowing  it  in  one  half-hour's  timcj  that 
is  a  task  that  never  was,  can,  or  will  be  accomplished. 
In  the  meantime,  we  must  only  come  as  near  its  ac- 
complishment as  we  can." 

^'  Just  so,  sir ;  we  can  do  no  more.  Remember,  then, 
that  you  perform  your  part  of  this  arrangement,  and, 


142  WILLY    REILLY. 

with  the  blessing"  of  God,  I  shall  leave  nothing  undone 
to  perform  mine." 

Thus  closed  this  rather  extraordinary  conversation ; 
after  which  Sir  Eobert  betook  himself  home,  to  reflect 
upon  the  best  means  of  performing  his  part  of  it,  with 
what  quickness  and  despatch,  and  with  what  success, 
our  readers  already  know. 

The  old  squire  was  one  of  those  characters  who 
never  are  so  easily  persuaded  as  when  they  do  not 
fully  comprehend  the  argument  used  to  convince  them. 
Whenever  the  squire  found  himself  a  little  at  fault,  or 
confounded  by  either  a  difficult  word  or  a  hard  sen- 
tence, he  always  took  it  for  granted  that  there  was 
something  unusually  profound  and  clever  in  the  matter 
laid  before  him.  Sir  Robert  knew  this,  and  on  that  ac- 
count played  him  off  to  a  certain  extent.  He  was  too 
cunning,  however,  to  darken  any  part  of  the  main 
argument  so  as  to  prevent  its  drift  from  being  fully 
understood,  and  thereby  defeating  his  own  purpose. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

A  CONFLAGRATION — AN  ESCAPE AND  AN  ADVENTURE. 

We  have  said  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  any- 
thing but  a  popular  man — and  we  might  have  added, 
that,  unless  among  his  own  clique  of  bigots  and  perse- 
cutors, he  was  decidedly  unpopular  among  Protestants 
in  general.  In  a  fevv^  days  after  the  events  of  the  niglit 
we  have  described,  Reilly,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Brown's 
brother,  an  able  and  distinguished  lawyer,  gave  up  the 
possession  of  his  immense  farm,  dwelling  house,  and 
offices  to  the  landlord.  In  point  of  fact,  this  man 
had  taken  the  farm  for  Reilly's  father,  in  his  own  name, 
a  step  which  many  of  the  liberal  and  generous  Protes- 


;iLLY    REILLY.  143 

tants  of  that  period  were  in  the  habit  of  taking*,  to  pro- 
tect the  property  for  tlie  Roman  Catholics,  from  siicli 
rapacious  scoundrels  as  Whitecraft,  and  others  like 
him,  who  had  accumulated  the  greater  portion  of  their 
wealth  and  estates  by  the  blackest  and  most  iniquitous 
political  profligacy  and  oppression.  For  about  a 
month  after  the  first  night  of  the  unsuccessful  pursuit 
after  Reilly,  the  whole  country  was  overrun  with  military 
parties,  and  such  miserable  inefficient  police  as  then 
existed.  In  the  meantime,  Reilly  escaped  every  toil 
and  snare  that  had  been  laid  for  him.  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  seeing  that  hitherto  he  had  set  them  at  de- 
fiance, resolved  to  glut  his  vengeance  on  his  property, 
since  he  could  not  arrest  himself.  A  description  of  his 
person  had  been,  almost  from  the  commencement  of 
the  proceedings,  published  in  the  Hiie-mid-Cry,  and  he 
had  been  now  outlawed.  As  even  this  failed.  Sir 
Robert,  as  we  said,  came  with  a  numerous  party  of  his 
myrmidons,  bringing  along  with  them  a  large  number 
of  horses,  carts,  and  cars.  The  house  at  this  time  was 
in  the  possession  only  of  a  keeper,  a  poor,  feeble  man, 
with  a  wife,  and  a  numerous  family  of  small  children, 
the  other  servants  having  fled  from  the  danger  in  w^hich 
their  connection  with  Reilly  involved  them.  Sir 
Robert,  however,  very  deliberately  brought  up  his 
cars  and  other  vehicles,  and  having  dragged  out  all 
the  most  valuable  parts  of  the  furniture,  piled  it  up, 
and  had  it  conveyed  to  his  own  out-houses,  where  it 
was  carefully  stovred.  This  act,  however,  excited  com- 
paratively little  attention,  for  such  outrages  were  not 
unfrequently  committed  by  those  who  had,  or  at  least 
who  thought  they  had,  the  law  in  their  own  hands.  It 
was  now  dusk,  and  the  house  had  been  gutted  of  all 
that  had  been  most  valuable  in  it — but  the  most  bril- 
liant part  of  the  performance  was  yet  to  come.  We 
mean  no  contemptible  pun.  The  young  man's  dwelling- 
house    and    oflice-houses    were   ignited    at   the   same 


144  WILLY    REILLY. 

moment  by  this  man's  military  and  other  official  minions, 
and  in  about  twenty  minutes  they  were  all  wrapped  in 
one  red,  merciless  mass  of  flame.  The  conntv}^  people, 
on  observing  this  fearful  conflagration,  flocked  from  all 
quarters,  but  a  cordon  of  outposts  was  stationed  at  some 
distance  around  the  premises,  to  prevent  tlie  peasantry 
from  marking  the  chief  actors  in  the  nefarious  outrage. 
Two  gentlemen,  however,  approached,  who,  having 
given  their  names,  were  at  once  admitted  to  the  burning 
premises.  These  were  Mr.  Brown,  the  clergyman,  and 
Mr.  Hastings,  the  actual  and  legal  proprietor  of  all  that 
had  been  considered  Reilly's  property.  Both  of  them 
observed  that  Sir  Robert  was  the  busiest  man  among 
them,  and  upon  making  inquiries  from  the  party,  they 
were  informed  that  they  acted  by  his  orders,  and  that, 
moreover,  he  was  himself  the  very  first  individual  who 
had  set  fire  to  the  premises.  The  clergyman  made  his 
way  to  Sir  Robert,  on  whose  villainous  countenance  he 
could  read  a  dark  and    diabolical  triumph. 

^'Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  ^'  how  comes 
such  a  wanton  and  unnecessary  w^aste  of  property  ?  " 

^^  Because,  sir,"  replied  that  gentleman,  "  it  is  the 
property  of  a  Popish  rebel  and  outlaw,  and  is  con- 
fiscated to  the  State  ?  " 

'^  But  do  you  possess  authority  for  this  conduct  ! — 
Are  you  the  State  1 " 

'^  In  the  spirit  of  our  Protestant  Constitution,  cer- 
tainly. I  am  a  loyal  Protestant  magistrate,  and  a  man 
of  rank,  and  will  hold  myself  accountable  for  what  I 
do  and  have  done.  Come  you,  there,"  he  added,  "  who 
have  knocked  down  the  pump,  take  some  straw,  light 
it  up,  and  put  it  with  pitchforks  upon  the  lower  end  of 
the  sta.ble  ;  it  has  not  yet  caught  the  flames. 

This  order  was  accordingly  complied  with,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  scene,  if  one  could  dissociate  the  mind 
from  the  hellish  spirit  which  created  it,  had  something 
terribly  sublime  in  it. 


WILLY    REILLY.  145 

Mr.  Hastings,  the  gentleman  who  accompanied  the 
clergyman,  the  real  owner  of  the  property,  looked  on 
with  apparent  indifference,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  In- 
deed, he  seemed  rather  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  the  thing 
than  otherwise,  and  passed  with  Mr.  Brown  from  place 
to  place,  as  if  to  obtain  the  best  points  for  viewing  the 
fire. 

Reilly's  residence  was  a  long,  large,  two-story  house, 
deeply  thatched ;  the  kitchen,  containing  pantr}^,  laun- 
dry, scullery,  and  all  the  usual  appurtenances  connected 
with  it,  was  a  continuation  of  the  larger  house,  but  it 
was  a  story  lower,  and  also  deeply  thatched.  The  out- 
offices  ran  in  a  long  line  behind  the  dwelling-house,  so 
that  both  ran  parallel  with  each  other,  and  stood  pretty 
close  besides,  for  the  3^ard  was  a  narrow  one.  In  the 
meantime,  the  night,  though  dry,  was  dark  and  stormy. 
The  wind  howled  through  the  adjoining  trees  like  thun- 
der, roared  along  the  neighboring  hills  and  swept  down 
in  savage  whirlwinds  to  the  bottom  of  the  lowest  valleys. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  crowd,  who  were  standing 
outside  the  cordon  we  have  spoken  of,  fled  home,  as 
the  awful  gusts  grew  stronger,  in  order  to  prevent  their 
houses  from  being  stripped  or  unroofed,  so  that  very 
few  remained  to  witness  the  rage  of  the  conflagration 
at  its  full  height. 

The  Irish  peasantry  entertain  a  superstition  that 
whenever  a  strong  storm  of  wind,  without  rain,  arises, 
it  has  been  occasioned  by  the  necromantic  spell  of 
some  guilty  sorcerer,  who,  first  having  sold  himself  to 
the  devil,  afterwards  raises  him  for  some  wicked  pur- 
pose ;  and  that  nothing  but  the  sacrifice  of  a  black  dog 
or  a  black  cock — the  one  without  a  white  hair,  the  other 
without  a  white  feather — can  prevent  him  from  carry- 
ing away,  body  and  soul,  tlie  individual  who  called  him 
up,  accompanied  by  sucli  terrors.  In  fact,  tlie  night, 
independently  of  the  terrible  accessory  of  tlie  fire,  was 
indescribably  awful.     Thatch,  portions  of  the  ribs  and 


146  WILLY    REILLY. 

roofs  of  houses,  were  whirled  along  through  the  air ;  and 
the  sweeping  blast,  in  addition  to  its  own  howlings,  was 
burdened  with  loud  screamings  of  women  and  children, 
and  the  stronger  shoutings  of  men,  as  they  attempted  to 
make  each  otlier  audible  amidst  the  roaring  of  the  tempest. 
This  was  terrible  indeed  ;  but  on  such  a  night,  what 
must  not  the  conflagration  have  been,  fed  by  such  imhu- 
luni — as  Sir  Robert  himself  would  have  said — as  that  on 
which  it  glutted  its  fiery  and  consuming  appetite.  We 
have  said  that  the  offices  and  dwelling-house  ran  par- 
allel with  each  other,  and  such  was  the  fact.  AVhat 
appeared  singular,  and  not  without  the  possibility  of 
some  dark  supernatural  cause,  according  to  the  impres- 
sions of  the  people,  was,  that  the  wind,  on  the  night  in 
question,  started,  as  it  were,  along  with  the  fire  ;  but 
the  truth  is,  it  had  been  gamboling  in  its  gigantic  play 
before  the  fire  commenced  at  all.  In  the  meantime, 
as  we  said,  the  whole  premises  presented  one  fiery  mass 
of  red  and  waving  flames,  that  shot  and  drifted  up,  from 
time  to  time,  towards  the  sky,  with  the  rapidity  and 
more  than  the  terror  of  the  aurora  horealis.  As  the  con- 
flagration proceeded,  the  high  flames  that  arose  from 
the  mansion,  and  those  that  leajDed  up  from  the  offices, 
several  times  met  across  the  yard  and  mingled,  as  if  to 
exult  in  their  fearful  task  of  destruction,  forming  a  long 
and  distinct  arch  of  flame,  so  exact  and  regular,  that  it 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  skill  and  effort  of  some 
powerful  demon,  who  had  made  it,  as  it  were,  a  fiery 
arbor  for  liis  kind.  The  wliole  countrv  was  visible  to 
an  astonishinof  distance,  and  overhead,  the  eveninof-  skv, 
into  wliich  the  up-rushing  pyramids  seemed  to  pass, 
looked  as  if  it  liad  caught  the  conflagration,  and  was 
one  red  mass  of  glowing  and  burning  copper.  Around 
the  house  and  premises  tlie  eye  could  distinguisli  a  pin; 
but  tlio  strong  light  was  so  fearfully  red,  that  the  deep 
tinge  it  communicated  to  the  earth  seemed  like  blood, 
and  made  it  appear  as  if  it  had  been  sprinkled  with  it. 


^v^LI.^'   R,HiM,v.  i  IV 

It  IS  im230ssible  tolookii[)oii  a  hirgoand  extensive  con- 
flagration without  feeling  the  mind  filled  with  imagery 
and  comparisons  drawn  from  mortal  and  actual  life. 
Jlere,  for  instance,  is  a  tyrant  in  the  unrestrained  ex- 
'  rcise  of  his  power  :  he  now  has  his  enemy  in  his  grip, 
:ind  hear  how  he  exults;  listen  to  the  mirthful  and 
crackling  laughter  with  which  the  fiendish  despot  re- 
joices as  he  gain's  the  victory  ;  mark  the  diabolical  gam- 
bols with  which  he  sports,  and  the  demon  glee  with 
which  he  performs  his  capricious  but  frightful  exulta- 
tions. But  the  tyrant,  after  all,  will  become  exhaust- 
ed, his  strength  and  power  will  fail  him,  he  Avill  destroy 
his  own  subjects,  he  will  become  feeble,  and  when  he 
has  nothing  further  on  which  to  exercise  his  power,  he 
will,  like  many  another  tyrant  before  him,  sink,  and  be 
lost  in  the  ruin  he  has  made. 

xlgain  :  would  you  behold  Industry  !  Here  have  its 
terrible  spirits  been  appointed  their  tasks.  Observe  the 
energy,  the  activity,  the  persevering  fury  with  which 
they  discharge  their  separate  duties.  See  how  that 
eldest  son  of  Ajiollyon,  Avith  the  appetite  of  hell,  licks 
into  his  burning  maw  everything  that  comes  in  contact 
with  his  tongue  of  fire.  Good  heavens  !  what  quick- 
ness of  execution,  and  howrauidly  they  pass  from  place 
to  place ;  how  they  run  about  in  quest  of  employment ; 
how  diligently  and  effectually  tliey  search  every  nook 
and  corner,  lest  anything  might  escape  them  !  Mark 
the  activity  with  which  that  strong  fellow  leaps  across 
from  beam  to  beam,  seizing  upon  each  as  he  goes.  A 
different  task  has  been  assigned  to  another :  he  attacks 
the  rafters  of  the  roof — he  fails  at  first,  but,  like  the 
constrictor,  he  first  licks  over  his  victim  before  he  de- 
stroys it — bravo  ! — he  is  at  it  again — it  gives  way — he 
is  upon  it,  and  above  it ;  and  now  his  diflficulties  are 
over — the  red  wood  glows,  splits,  and  crackles,  and 
flies  off  in  angry  flakes,  in  order  to  become  a  ministei' 
to  its  active  and  devourinor-  master      See  !  observe  ! 


148  WILLY    REILLY. 

Good  heavens  ! — What  business — what  a  coil  and  tur- 
moil of  industry  !  Every  flame  at  work — no  idle  hand 
here — no  lazy  lounger  reposing.  No,  no — -the  mdus- 
try  of  a  hive  of  bees  is  nothing  to  this.  Running  up — 
running  down — running  in  all  directions ;  now  they 
unite  together  to  accomplish  some  general  task,  and 
again  disperse  themselves  to  perform  their  individual 
appointments. 

But  hark  ! — -wliat  comes  here  ?  Room  for  another 
element !  'Tis  the  wind-storm,  that  comes  to  partake 
in  the  triumph  of  the  victory  Avhich  his  ministers  have 
assisted  to  gain.  But  lo  !  here  he  comes  in  person ; 
and  now  they  unite — or  Iioav  ? — Do  they  oppose  each 
other  ?  Here  does  the  wind-storm  drive  back  the  god 
of  fire  from  his  victim;  again  the  fiery  god  attempts  to 
reach  it ;  and  again  he  feels  that  he  has  met  more  than 
his  match.  Once,  twice,  thrice  he  has  failed  in  getting 
at  it.  But  is  this  conflict  real — this  fierce  battle  be- 
tween the  elements  ?  Alas  !  no  :  they  are  both  tyrants, 
and  what  is  to  be  expected  I 

The  wind  god,  always  unsteady,  wheels  round,  comes 
to  tlie  assistance  of  his  opponent,  andgiveshimnew  cour- 
age, new  vigor,  and  new  strength.  But  his  inferior  min- 
isters must  have  a  share  of  this  dreadful  repast.  Off  go  a 
thousand  masses  of  burning  material,  whirling  along. 
Off  go  the  glowing  timbers  and  rafters  on  the  wind  by 
which  they  are  borne  in  thousands  of  red  meteors  across 
the  sky.  But  hark,  again  !  Room  for  the  whirlwind  ! 
Here  it  comes,  and  addresses  itself  to  yon  tall  and  wav- 
ing pyramid;  they,  embrace ;  the  pyramid  is  twisted 
into  the  figure  of  a  gigantic  corkscrew — round  they  go, 
rapid  as  thought ;  the  thunder  of  the  wind  supplies  them 
with  the  appropriate  music,  and  continues  until  this 
terrible  and  gigantic  waltz  of  the  elements  is  concluded. 
But  now  these  fearful  ravagers  are  satisfied,  because 
they  have  nothing  more  on  which  they  can  glut  them- 
selves.    They  appear,  however,  to  be  satedc     The  wind 


WILLY    KEILLY.  149 

has  become  low,  and  is  only  able  to  work  up  a  feeble 
effort  at  its  former  strength.  The  flames,  too,  are  sub- 
siding— their  power  is  gone ;  occasional  jets  of  fire  come 
forth,  but  they  instantly  disappear.  By  degrees,  and 
one  after  another,  they  vanish.  Nothing  now  is  visi- 
ble but  smoke,  and  everything  is  considered  as  over — 
when  lo  !  like  a  great  general  who  has  achieved  a  trium- 
phant victory,  it  is  deemed  right  to  take  a  last  look  at 
the  position  of  the  enemy.  Up,  therefore,  starts  an 
unexpected  burst  of  flame — blazes  for  awhile  ;  looks 
about  it,  as  it  were ;  sees  that  the  victory  is  complete, 
and  drops  down  into  the  darkness  from  which  it  came. 
The  conflagration  is  over  ;  the  wind- storm  is  also  ap- 
peased. Small  hollow  gusts,  amongst  the  trees  and 
elsewhere,  are  now  all  that  are  heard.  By  degrees, 
even  these  cease  ;  and  the  wind  is  now  such  as  it  was 
in  the  course  of  the  evening,  when  the  elements  were 
comparatively  quiet  and  still. 

]\Ir.  Brown  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Hastings,  having  wait- 
ed until  they  saw  the  last  rafter  of  unfortunate  Heilly's 
house  and  premises  sink  into  a  black  mass  of  smoking 
ruins,  turned  their  steps  to  the  parsonage,  which  they 
had  no  sooner  entered  than  they  went  immediately  to 
Reilly's  room,  who  was  still  there  under  concealment. 
Mr.  Brown,  however,  went  out  again  and  returned  with 
some  wine,  which  he  placed  upon   the  table. 

'^  Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "  this  has  become  an  aw- 
ful night ;  the  wind  has  been  tremendous,  and  has  done 
a  good  deal  of  damage,  I  fear,  to  your  house  and  prem- 
ises, Mr.  Brown.  I  heard  the  slates  falling  about  in 
great  numbers ;  and  the  inmates  of  the  liouse  were,  as 
far  as  I  could  judge,  exceedingly  alarmed." 

^'  It  was  a  dreadful  night  in  more  senses  than  one," 
replied  Mr.  Brown. 

''  By  the  by,"  said  Reilly,  '^  was  there  not  afire  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood  ?  I  observed  through  the 
window  a  strong   light   flickering  and   vibrating,  as  it 


150  WILLY    REILLY. 

were,  over   the  whole   country.     What  must  it   have 
been  ? " 

^'  My  dear  Reilly,"  rephed  Mr.  Brown,  ''be  calm; 
your  house  and  premises  are,  at  this  moment,  one  dark 
heap  of  smouldering  ruins.'' 

"  0  yes — I  understand,"  replied  Reilly — ^'  Sir  Rob- 
ert   Whitecraft." 

''  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,"  replied  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  it  is 
too  true,  Reilly — you  are  now  houseless  and  homeless ; 
and  may  God  forgive   liim  !  " 

Reilly  got  up  and  paced  the  room  several  times — then 
sat  down — and  filling  himself  a  glass  of  wine,  drank  it 
off;  then  looking  at  eacli  of  them,  said — in  a  voice  ren- 
dered hoarse  by  the  indignation  and  resentment  which 
he  felt  himself  compelled  out  of  respect  for  his  kind 
friends,  to  restrain — "  Gentlemen,"  he  repeated,  "  what 
do  you  call  this  *?  " 

"  Malice — persecution — vengeance,"  replied  Mr. 
Brown,  whose  resentment  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of 
Reilly  himself.  ''  In  the  presence  of  God,  and  before  all 
the  world,  I  would  pronounce  it  one  of  the  most  diabol- 
ical acts  ever  committed  in  the  history  of  civil  society. 
But  you  have  one  consolation,  Reilly  ;  your  money  and 
papers  are  safe." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  replijed  Reilly  ;  ^'I  think  not  of  them. 
It  is  the  vindictive  and  persecuting  spirit  of  that  man — 
that  monster — and  the  personal  motives  from  which  he 
acts,  that  torture  me,  and  that  plant  in  my  heart  a  prin- 
ciple of  vengeance  more  fearful  still  than  his.  But  you 
do  not  understand  me,  gentlemen  ;  I  could  smile  at  all 
he  has  done  to  myself  yet.  It  is  of  the  serpent  tooth, 
which  will  destroy  the  peace  of  others,  that  I  think. 
All  these  motives  being  considered,  what  do  you  think 
that  man  deserves  at  my  hands  1  " 

"  My  dear  Reilly,"  said  the  clergyman,  "recollect 
that  there  is  a  Providence,  and  thrit  we  cannot  assume 
to  ourselves  the  disposition  of  His  judgments,  or  the 


WILLV    REILLY.  151 

knowledge  of  His  wisdom.  Have  patience.  Yonr  situa- 
tion is  one  of  "Treat  distress  and  almost  unexamijled 
difficulty.  At  all  events,  you  are,  for  the  present,  safe 
under  this  roof;  and  although  I  grant  you  have  much 
to  suffer,  still  you  have  a  free  conscience,  and  I  dare 
say,  would  not  exchange  your  position  for  that  of  your 
persecutor." 

'*  No,"  said  Reilly,  ''most  assuredly  not — most  as- 
suredly not ;  no,  not  for  worlds.  Yet  is  it  not  strange, 
gentlemen,  that  that  man  will  sleep  sound  and  happily 
to-night,  whilst  I  lie  upon  a  bed  of  thorns  I " 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Brown  tapped  gently  at  the 
door,    wliich  was  cautiously  opened  by  her  husband. 

''  John,"  said  she,  "  here  is  a  note  which  I  was  de- 
sired to  give  to  you  without  a  moment's  delay." 

"  Thank  you,  my  love  ;  I  will  read  it  instantly." 

He  then  bolted  the  door,  and  coming  to  the  table  took 
up  one  of  the  candles  and  read  the  letter,  which  he 
handed  to  Mr.  Hastings.  Now,  we  have  already  stat- 
ed that  this  orentleman,  whilst  lookinof  on  at  the  de- 
struction  of  Reilly's  property,  never  once  opened  his 
lips.  Neither  did  he,  from  the  moment  they  entered 
Reilly's  room.  He  sat  like  a  dumb  man,  occasionly 
helping  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine.  After  having  pe- 
rused the  note  he  merely  nodded,  but  said  not  a  word ; 
he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  faculty  of  speech.  At  length 
Mr.  Brown  spoke  : — 

"This  is  really  too  bad,  my  dear  Reilly;  here  is  a 
note  signed  '  H.  F.,'  which  informs  me  that  your  resi- 
dence, concealment,  or  whatever  it  is,  has  been  dis- 
covered by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  that  the  military 
are  on  their  way  here  to  arrest  you ;  you  must  instant- 
ly  fly." 

Hastings  then  got  up,  and  taking  Reilly's  hand, 
said : — 

'*  Yes,  Reilly,  you  must  escape — disguise  yourself — 
take  all  shapes — since  you  will  not  leave  the  country ; 


152  WILLY    REILLY. 

but  there  Is  one  fact  I  wish  to  Impress  upon  you  :  med- 
dle not  wit.li — Injure  not — Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 
Leave  him  to  me.'^ 

''  Go  out  by  tlie  back  way,"  said  Mr.  Brown  ;  '^and 
fly  Into  the  fields,  lest  they  should  surround  the  house 
and  render  escape  impossible.  God  bless  you  and 
preserve  3'ou  from  the  violence  of  your  enemies  ! " 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  what  subsequently  occurred. 
Mr.  Brown's  premises,  as  he  had  anticipated,  were  com- 
pletely surrounded,  ere  the  party  In  search  of  Reilly 
had  demanded  admittance.  The  whole  house  was 
searched  from  top  to  bottom,  but  as  usual,  without  suc- 
cess. Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  himself  was  not  with  them, 
but  the  party  were  all  but  Intoxicated,  and,  were  it  not 
for  the  calm  and  unshrinking  firmness  of  Mr.  Brown, 
would  have  been  guilty  of  a  very  offensive  degree  of  In- 
solence. 

Reilly,  In  the  meantime,  did  not  pass  far  from  the 
house.  On  the  contrary,  he  resolved  to  watch  from  a 
safe  place  the  motions  of  those  who  were  in  pursuit 
of  him.  In  order  to  do  this  more  securely,  he  mounted 
into  the  branches  of  a  mao-nlficent  oak-tree  that  stood 
in  the  centre  of  a  field,  adjoining  a  kind  of  back  lawn 
that  stretched  from  the  walled  garden  of  the  parson- 
age. The  fact  Is,  that  the  clergyman's  house  had  two 
hall  doors,  one  in  front,  and  the  other  in  the  rear, 
and  as  the  rooms  commanded  a  view  of  the  scenery 
behind  the  house,  which  was  much  finer  than  that  In 
front,  on  this  account  the  back  hall  door  was  neces- 
sary, as  it  gave  them  a  free  and  easy  egress  to  the  lawn 
we  have  mentioned,  from  which  a  magnificent  prosjDect 
was  visible. 

It  was  obvious  that  the  party,  though  unsuccessful, 
had  been  very  accurately  Informed.  Finding,  how- 
ever, that  the  bird  had  flown,  several  of  them  galloped 
across  the  lawn — It  was  a  cavalry  party,  having  been 
sent  out   for  speed — and  passed  into  the  field  where 


WILLY    REILLY.  153 

the  tree  grew  in  which  Reilly  was  concealed.  After 
a  useless  search,  however,  they  returned,  and  pulled 
up  their  horses  under  the  oak. 

"Well,"  said  one  of  them,  "  d — n  me,  but  I  think 
the  scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible.  We  have 
orders  from  Sir  Robert  to  shoot  him,  and  to  put  the 
matter  upon  the  principle  of  resistance  against  the 
law,  on  his  side.  Sir  Robert  has  been  most  credibly 
informed  that  that  disloyal  parson  has  concealed  him 
in  his  house  for  nearly  the  last  month.  Now,  who 
the  devil  could  think  of  looking  for  a  Popish  rebel 
in  the  house  of  a  Protestant  parson "?  What  the  deuce 
is  keeping  those  fellows  f  I  hope  they  won't  go  too 
far  into  the  country." 

^' Any  man  that  says  Mr.  Brown  is  a  disloyal  par- 
son is  a  liar,"  said  one  of  tliem,  in  a  stern  voice. 

'^And  I  say,"  said  another,  with  a  hickup,  ^^  that 
d — n  me,  but  I  think  this  same  Reilly  is  as  loyal  a 
inan  as  e'er  a  one  amongst  us.  My  name  is  George 
Johnston,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it ;  and  the  truth 
is,  that,  only  Miss  Folliard  fell  in  love  with  Reilly, 
and  refused  to  marry  Sir  Robert,  Reilly  would  have 
been  a  loyal  man  still,   and  no  ill-will  against  him. 

But,  by it  was  too  bad  to  burn  his  house  and  place 

— and  see  whether  Sir  Robert  will  come  off  the  better 
of  it.  I  myself  am  a  good  Protestant — show  me  the 
man  that  will  deny  that,  and  I'll  become  his  school- 
master only  for  five  minutes.  I  do  say,  and  I'll  tell 
it  to  Sir  Robert's  face,  that  there's  something  wrong 
somewhere.  Give  me  a  Papish  that  breaks  the  law, 
let  him  be  priest  or  layman,  and  I'm  the  boy  that  will 
take  a  grip  of  him  if  I  can  get  him.  But  d — n  me,  if 
I  like  to  be  sent  out  to  hunt  innocent,  inoffensive 
Papishes,  who  commit  no  crime,  except  that  of  hav- 
ing property  that  chaps  like  ^ir  Robert  have  their 
eye  on.  Now,  suppose  the  Papishes  had  the  upper 
hand,  and  that  they  treated  us  so,  what  would  you  say  I" 

r 


154  EVILLY    EEILLY. 

*'  xill  I  can  say  is,"  replied  another  of  them,  **that 
I'd  wish  to  get  the  reward." 

^^  D — n  the  reward,"  said  Johnston,  '^  I  Uke  fair 
play." 

"But  how  did  Sir  Robert  come  to  know,"  asked 
another,  ''that  Reilly  was  with  the  parson?" 

"  Who  the  devil  here  can  tell  that  f  replied  several. 

''  The  thing  was  a  hoax,"  said  Johnston,  ''  and  a 
cursed  uncomfortable  one  for  us.  But  here  come 
these  fellows,  just  as  they  went,  it  seems !  Well, 
boys,  no  trail  of  this  d — d  fox  f 

^' Trail!"  exclaimed  the  others.  " 'Gad,  you  might 
as  well  hunt  for  your  grandmother's  needle  in  a  bundle 
of  straw.  The  truth  is,  the  man's  not  in  the  country, 
and  whoever  gave  the  information  as  to  the  parson's 
keeping  him  was  some  enemy  of  the  parson's  more  than 
of  Reilly's,  I'll  go  bail.  Come,  now,  let  us  go  back,  and 
give  an  account  of  our  luck,  and  then  to  our  barracks." 

Now  at  this  period  it  was  usual  for  men  who  were 
prominent  for  rank  and  loyalty,  and  whose  attachment 
to  the  Constitution  and  Government  was  indicated  by 
such  acts  and  principles  as  those  which  we  have  hitherto 
read  in  the  life  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — we  say  it 
w^as  usual  for  such  men  to  be  allowed  a  small  detach- 
ment of  military,  whose  numbers  were  mostly  rated, 
according  to  the  services  required  of  them,  by  the  zeal 
and  activity  of  their  employer,  as  well  as  for  his  pro- 
tection ;  and,  in  order  to  their  accommodation,  some 
uninhabited  house  in  the  neighborhood  was  con- 
verted into  a  barrack  for  the  purpose.  Sucli  was  the 
case  in  the  instance  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who, 
independently  of  his  zeal  for  the  public  good,  was  sup- 
posed to  have  an  eye,  in  this  disposition  of  things,  to 
his  own  personal  safety.  He  consequently  had  his  little 
barrack  so  closely  adjoining  liis  liouse,  that  a  notice  of 
live  minutes  could  at  any  time  have  its  inmates  at  hi^ 
premises,  or  in  his  presence. 


WILLV    KKIJJ.V.  155 

After  these  men  went  away,  Reilly,  having  waited 
a  few  minutes,,  until  lie  was  satisfied  that  they  had  act- 
ually, one  and  all  of  them,  disappeared,  came  down 
from  the  tree,  and  once  more  betook  himself  to  the  road. 
Whither  to  go,  he  knew  not.  In  consequence  of  hav- 
ing received  his  education  abroad,  his  personal  knowl 
edge  of  the  inliabitants  belonging  to  the  neighborhood 
was  very  limited.  Go  somewhere,  however,  he  must. 
Accordingly,  he  resolved  to  advance,  at  all  events,  as 
far  as  he  might  be  able  to  travel  before  bed-time,  and 
then  resio^n  himself  to  chance  for  a  nio^ht's  shelter.  One 
might  imagine,  indeed,  that  his  position  as  a  wealthy 
Roman  Catholicgentlemau'sufferingpersecution  from  the 
tool  and  scourge  of  a  hostile  Government,  might  have 
calculated  upon  shelter  and  secrecy  from  those  belong- 
ing to  his  own  creed.  And  so,  indeed,  in  nineteen  cases 
out  of  twenty,  he  might ;  but  in  what  predicament  should 
he  find  himself,  if  the  twentieth  proved  treacherous ! 
And  against  this  he  had  no  guaranty.  That  age  w\ns 
peculiarly  marked  by  the  foulest  personal  perfidy,  pre- 
cipitated into  action  by  rapacity,  ingratitude,  and  the 
blackest  ambition.  The  son  of  a  Roman  Catholic 
gentleman,  for  instance,  had  nothing  m.ore  to  do  than 
change  his  creed,  attach  himself  to  the  Government,  be- 
come a  spy  and  informer  on  liis  family,  and  he  ousted 
his  own  father,  at  once,  out  of  his  hereditary  property  ; 
an  ungrateful  and  heinous  proceeding,  that  was  too 
common  in  the  times  of  which  we  write.  Then,  as  to 
the  people  themselves,  they  were,  in  general,  steeped  in 
poverty  and  ignorance,  and  this  is  certainly  not  surpris- 
ing, when  we  consider  that  no  man  durst  educate  them. 
The  Government  rewards,  therefore,  assailed  them 
with  a  double  temptation.  In  first,  the  amount  of  it — 
taking  their  property  into  consideration — was  calculat- 
ed to  grapple  with  and  overcome  their  scruples  ;  and  in 
the  next  they  were  certain  by  their  treachery  to  secure 
the  protection  of  Government  for  themselves. 


156  WILLY   REILLY. 

Such,  exactly,  was  the  state  of  the  country  on  the 
niglit  when  Reilly  found  himself  a  solitary  traveller  on 
the  road,  ignorant  of  his  destiny,  and  uncertain  where, 
or  in  what  quarter  he  might  seek  shelter  until  morning. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  overtook  another 
traveller,  with  whom  he  entered  into  conversation. 

^'  God  save  you,  my  friend." 

*^  God  save  you  kindly,  sir,"  replied  the  other;  ^^was 
not  this  an  awful  nio^ht  I" 

^'  If  yoiim^j  say  so,"  returned  Reilly,  unconsciously, 
and  for  the  moment  forgetting  himself,  "  well  may  I, 
my  friend  " 

Indeed,  it  is  probable  that  Reilly  was  thrown  some- 
what oif  his  guard  by  the  accent  of  his  companion,  from 
which  he  at  once  inferred  that  he  w^as  a  Catholic.      * 

''  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  ''  how  could  it  be  more 
awful  to  you  than  to  any  other  man  f 

''  Suppose  my  house  was  blown  down,"  said  Reilly, 
^'  and  that  yours  was  not,  would  not  that  be  cause  suffi- 
cient r 

'^My  house!"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  a  deep  sigh; 
''but  sure  you  ought  to  know,  sir,  that  it's  not  every 
man  has  a  house." 

"And,  perhaps,  I  do  know  it." 

"Wasn't  that  a  terrible  act,  sir,  tlie  burning  of  Mr. 
Reilly's  house  and  place  f ' 

"  Who's  Mr.  Reilly?"  asked  the  other. 

"  A  Catholic  gintleman,  sir,  that  the  soldiers  are  af- 
ther,"  replied  the  man. 

"  And  perhaps  it  is  right  that  they  should  be  after 
him.  What  did  he  do?  The  Catholics  ai-e  too  much 
in  the  habit  of  violating  the  law,  es2)ecially  their  priests, 
who  persist  in  marrying  Protestants  and  Papists  togeth- 
er, although  they  know  it  is  a  hanging  matter.  If 
they  deliberately  put  their  necks  in  the  noose,  who  can 
pity  them?" 

"  It  seems  they  do,  then,"  replied  the  man  in  a  sub- 


WILLY  kp:illy  157 

dued  voice ;  ^'  and  wliat  is  still  more  strange,  it  very 
often  happens  that  persons  of  their  own  creed  are  some- 
what too  ready  to  come  down  wid  a  harsh  word 
upon  'em." 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  responded  Reilly,  ''let  them  not 
deserve  it ;  let  them  obey  the  law." 

"  xVnd  are  jjoa  of  opinion,  sir,"  asked  the  man,  with  a 
significant  emphasis  upon  the  personal  pronoun,  which 
we  have  })ut  in  italics — ''are  you  of  opinion,  sir,  that  obe- 
dience to  the  law  is  always  a  security  to  either  person 
or  property  f  " 

The  direct  force  of  the  question  could  not  be  easily 
parried,  at  least  by  Reilly,  to  whose  circumstances  it 
applied  so  powerfully,  and  he  consequently  paused  for 
a  little  to  shape  his  thoughts  into  the  language  he  wished 
to  adopt ;  the  man  however,  proceeded  : — 

"I  wonder  what  Mr.  Reilly  would  say  if  such  a 
question  was  put  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  replied  Reilly,  "he  would  say  much 
as  I  say — that  neither  innocence  nor  obedience  is 
always  a  security  under  any  law  or  any  constitution 
either." 

His  companion  made  no  reply,  and  they  walked  on 
for  some  time  in  silence.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  pre- 
carious state  of  the  country  then,  that,  although  the 
stranger,  from  the  opening  words  of  their  conversation, 
suspected  liis  companion  to  be  no  other  than  Willy 
Reilly  himself,  yet  he  hesitated  to  avow  the  suspicions 
he  entertained  of  his  identity,  although  he  felt  anx- 
ious to  repose  tlie  fullest  confidence  in  him ;  and 
Reilly,  on  the  other  hand,  though  perfectly  aware 
of  the  true  character  of  his  companion,  was  influenced 
in  their  conversation  by  a  similar  feeling.  Distrust 
it  could  not  be  termed  on  either  side,  but  simply  the 
operation  of  that  general  caution  wliicli  was  generated 
by  the  state  of  the  times,  when  it  was  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  know  the  individual  on  whom  you  could  place 


158  WILLY    REILLY. 

dependence.  Reilly's  generous  nature,  however,  could 
bear  this  miserable  manoeuvrino;'  no  long-er. 

'^  Come,  my  friend,"  said  he,  '^  we  have  been  beat- 
ing about  the  bush  with  each  other  to  no  purpose ; 
although  I  know  not  your  name,  yet  I  think  I  do  your 
profession." 

''And  I  would  hold  a  wager,"  replied  the  other, 
"that  Mr.  Reilly,  whose  house  was  burned  down  by  a 
villain  this  night,  is  not  a  thousand  miles  from  me." 

"  And  suppose  you  are  right  ?  " 

"  Then,  upon  my  veracity,  youVe  safe,  if  I  am.  It 
would  ill  become  my  cloth  and  character  to  act  dis- 
honorably or  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  my  religion. 

"  'Non  ignara  mali  miseris  succurrere  disco.' 

''  You  see,  Mister  Reilly,  I  couldn't  make  use  of  any 
other  gender  but  the  feminine,  without  violating  pros- 
ody ;  for,  although  I'm  not  so  sharp  at  my  Latin  as  I 
was,  still  I  couldn't  use  ignarw5,  as  you  see,  without 
fairly  committing  myself  as  a  scholar  ;  and  indeed,  if  I 
went  to  that,  it  would  surely  be  the  first  time  I  have 
been  mistaken  for  a  dunce." 

The  honest  priest,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken,  and 
conscious  that  he  was  in  safe  hands,  fell  at  once  into 
his  easy  and  natural  manner,  and  rattled  away  very 
much  to  the  amusement  of  his  companion.  "  Ah,"  he 
proceeded,  ''  many  a  character  I  have  been  forced  to 
assume." 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  inquired  Reilly.  "  How  did  it  hap- 
pen that  you  were  forced  into  such  a  variety  of  charac- 
ters I  " 

"  Why,  3^ou  see,  Mr.  Reilly — troth,  and  maybe 
I  had  better  not  be  naming  you  aloud — walls  have  ears, 
and  so  may  hedges.  How,  you  ask  F  ^^'hy,  you  see, 
I'm  not  registered,  and  consequently  have  no  permis- 
sion from  Government  to  exercise  my  functions." 

"  Why,"  said  Reilly,  "  you  labor  under  a  mistake, 
my  friend ;  the  bill  for  registering  Catholic  priests  did 


WILLY    REILLY.  159 

not  pass :  it  was  lost  by  a  majority  of  two.  So  far, 
make  your  mind  easy.  The  consequence  is,  that  if  you 
labor  under  no  ecclesiastic^il  censure  you  may  exercise 
all  the  functions  of  your  office — that  is,  as  well  as  you 
can,  and  as  far  as  you  dare." 

''  Well,  that  same's  a  comfort,"  said  tlie  priest ;  ''  but 
the  report  was,  and  is,  that  we  are  to  be  registered. 
However,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  have  been  a  perfect  Pro- 
teus. The  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid  were  nothing  to 
mine.  I  have  represented  every  character  in  society 
at  large  :  to-day  I've  been  a  farmer,  and  to-morrow  a 
/poor  man,  sometimes  a  fool — a  rare  character,  you 
know,  in  this  world — and  sometimes  a  fiddler ;  for  I  play 
a  little." 

*' And  which  character  did  you  prefer,  among  them 
all,"  asked  Reilly,  with  a  smile  which  he  could  not  re- 
press. 

'^  0  troth,  you  needn't  ask  that,  Mister  R — hem — you 
needn't  ask  that.  The  first  morning  I  took  to  the  fiddle, 
I  was  about  to  give  myself  up  to  the  Government,  at 
once.  As  for  my  part  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how 
I  sent  those  that  were  unlucky  enough  to  hear  my  n:usic 
scampering  across  the  country." 

^'  And  pray^  how  long  is  that  since  ^  " 

''  Why,  something  better  than  three  weeks,  the  Lord 
pity  me  ! " 

"  And  what  description  of  dress  did  you  wear  on  that 
occasion  ?  "  asked  Reilly. 

''  Dress — wliy,  then,  an  old  yellow  caubeeen,  a  blue 
frieze  coat,  and — movrone,  0 — a  striped  breeches  !  And 
the  worst  of  it  was,  that  big  Paddy  Mullin,  from  Mul- 
laghmore,  having  met  me  in  old  Darby  Doyle's,  poor 
man,  vvhere  I  went  to  take  a  little  refreshment,  ordered  in 
something  to  eat,  and  began  to  make  me  play  for  him. 
There  was  a  Protestant  in  the  house,  too,  so  that  I  couldn't 
tell  him  who  I  was,  and  I  accordingly  began,  and  soon 
cleared  the  house    of  them.     God  bless  you,  sir,  you 


160  WILLY    REILLY, 

could  little  dream  of  all  I  went  throng  h.  I  was  one  day 
set  \}\  the  house  I  was  concealed  in,  in  the  town  ofBally- 
rogan,  and  only  for  the  town  fool,  Art  M'Kenna,  I 
suppose  I'd  have  swung  before  this." 

"  How  was  tiiat  ?  "  asked  Reilly. 

^'  Why,  sir,  one  day,  I  got  the  hard  word  that  they 
would  be  into  the  house  where  I  was,  in  a  few  minutes. 
To  escape  them  in  my  own  dress  I  knew  was  impossi- 
ble ;  and  what  was  to  be  done  *?  The  poor  fool,  who 
was  as  true  as  steel,  came  to  our  relief.  *  Here,'  said  he, 
'  exchange  wid  me.  I'll  put  on  your  black  clothes,  and 
you'll  put  on  my  red  ones' — he  was  dressed  like  an  old 
soldier — ^  then  I'll  take  to  my  scrapers,  and  while  they're 
in  pursuit  of  me,  you  can  escape  to  some  friend's  house, 
where  you  may  get  another  dress.  God  knows,'  said 
he,  with  a  grin  on  him  I  didn't  like,  '  it's  a  poor  exchange 
on  my  part.  You  can  play  the  fool,  and  cock  your  cap, 
without  any  one  to  ask  you  for  authority,'  says  he ; 
'  and  if  I  only  marry  a  wrong  couple  I  may  be  hanged. 
Go  off,  now.  Hould  your  head  well  up,  and  imitate 
your  betthers.'  Well,  sir,  out  I  walked,  dressed  in  a 
red  coat,  military  hat,  white  knee-breeches,  and  black 
leggins.  As  I  was  going  out,  I  met  the  soldiers.  '  Is 
^,he  priest  inside,  Art  f '  they  asked.  I  pointed  in  a 
vrong  direction.  '  Up  by  Kilibray  ? '  I  nodded.  They 
first  searched  the  house,  however,  but  found  neither 
priest  nor  fool ;  only  one  of  them,  something  sharper 
than  the  rest,  went  out  of  the  back  door,  and  saw  un- 
fortunate Art,  dressed  in  black,  running  for  the  bare 
life.  Of  course  they  thought  it  was  me  they  had  Off 
they  started ;  and  a  terrible  chase  Art  put  them  to. 
At  last  he  was  caught,  after  a  run  across  the  country,  of 
about  four  miles ;  but  ne'er  a  word  came  out  of  his  lips, 
till  a  keen  fellow,  on  lookinof  closely  at  him,  discovered 
the  mistake.  Some  ofthemtlien  were  going  to  kill  the 
poor  fool ;  but  otliers  interfered,  and  wouldn't  allow  liim 
to  be  touched ;  and  many  of  them  laughed  heartily,  when 


WILLY    REILLY.  161 

they  saw  Art  turned  into  a  clergymen,  as  they  said. 
Art,  however,  was  no  coward,  and  threatened  to  read 
every  man  of  tliem  out  from  the  altar.  '  I'll  exkimni- 
cate  every  ni other's  son  of  you,'  said  he.  *  I'm  a  rev- 
erend clargy  ;  and  by  the  contents  of  my  soger's  cap, 
I'll  close  the  mouths  on  your  faces,  so  that  a  blessed 
pratie  or  a  boult  of  fat  bacon  will  never  go  down  one 
of  your  villainous  throats  again  ;  and  then,'  he  added, 
^  I'll  sell  you  for  scarecrows  to  the  Fope  o'  Rome,  who 
wants  a  dozen  or  two  of  you  to  sweep  out  his  palace.' 
It  was  then,  sir,  that,  while  I  was  getting  out  of  my  red 
clothes,  I  was  transformed  again  ;  but  indeed,  the  most 
of  us  are  so  now,  God  help  us  !  " 

They  had  now  arrived  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  road, 
w^hen  the  priest  stood. 

''  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  '^  I  am  very  tired  ;  but  as  it 
is,  we  must  go  on  a  couple  of  miles  further,  until  we 
reach  Glen  Dhu,  where,  I  think,  I  can  promise  you  a 
night's  lodging,  such  as  it  will  be." 

'^I  am  easily  satisfied,"  replied  his  companion,  *' it 
would  be  a  soft  bed  that  would  win  me  to  repose,  on  this 
night,  at  least." 

''  It  will  certainly  be  a  rude  and  a  rough  one,"  said 
the  priest,  "  a.nd  there  will  be  few  hearts  there  free  from 
care,  no  more  than  yours,  Mr.  Reilly.  Alas  !  that  I 
should  be  obliged  to  say  so  in  a  Christian  country." 

*'  You  say  you  are  fatigued,"  said  Reilly,  "  take  my 
arm.     I  am  strong  enough  to  yield  you  some  support." 

The  priest  did  so,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  slower 
pace,  until  they  got  over  the  next  two  miles,  when  the 
priest  stopped  again. 

''  I  must  rest  a  little,"  said  he,  "  although  we  are  now 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  our  berth  for  the  night.  Do 
vou  know  wliere  you  are." 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Reilly,''  but,  good  heavens !  sure 
there  is  neither  house  nor  home  within  two  miles  of  us. 
We  are  in  the  moors  at  the  very  mouth  of  Glen  Dhu." 


162  WILIA'    KKIJ.LY. 

^' Yes,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and  I  am  glad  *\^e 
are  here." 

The  poor  hunted  priest  felt  himself,  indeed,  very 
much  exhausted,  so  much  so,  that  if  the  termination  of 
his  journey  had  been  at  a  much  longer  distance  from 
thence,  he  would  scarcely  have  been  able  to  reach  it. 

"  God  help  our  unhappy  Church,"  said  he,  ^'for  she 
is  suftering  much;  but  still  she  is  suffering  nobly,  and 
with  such  Christian  fortitude  as  will  make  her  days  of 
trial  and  endurance  the  brightest  in  her  annals.  All 
that  power  and  persecution  can  direct  against  us  is 
put  in  force  a  thousand  ways  ;  but  we  act  under  the 
consciousness  that  we  have  God  and  truth  on  our  side, 
and  this  gives  us  strength  and  courage  to  suffer.  And 
if  we  fly,  Mr.  Reilly,  and  hide  ourselves,  it  is  not  from 
any  moral  cowardice  we  do  so.  It  certainly  is  not 
true  courage  to  expose  our  lives  wantonly  and  unne- 
cessarily to  the  vengeance  of  our  enemies,  ftead  the  Old 
Testament  and  history,  and  you  will  find  how  many 
good  and  pious  men  have  sought  shelter  in  the  wilder- 
nesses and  caves,  as  we  have  done.  The  truth  is,  we 
feel  ourselves  called  upon,  for  the  sake  of  our  suffer- 
ing and  neglected  flocks,  to  remain  in  the  country,  and 
to  afford  them  all  the  consolation  and  religious  support 
in  our  power,  God  help  them." 

"  I  admire  the  justice  of  your  sentiments,"  replied 
Reilly,  ^'  and  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  expressed. 
Indeed,  I  am  of  opinion,  that  if  those  who  foster  and 
stimulate  tliis  detestable  spirit  of  persecution  against 
you,  only  knew  how  certainly  and  surely  it  defeats 
their  purpose,  by  cementing  your  hearts  and  the  hearts 
of  your  flocks  together,  they  would  not,  from  principles 
even  of  worldly  policy,  persist  in  it.  The  man  who  at- 
tempted to  break  down  the  arch  b}^  heaping  additional 
weight  upon  it,  ultimately  found  that  the  greater  the 
weight  the  stronger  the  arch ;  and  so  I  trust  it  will  be 
witli  us." 


WILI.V    RKILLY.  1  G.'] 

^^It  would  seem,"  said  tlie  priest,  "  to  be  an  at- 
tempt to  exterminate  the  religion  of  the  people,  by  de- 
priving them  of  their  pastors,  and  consequently  of  their 
Church,  in  order  to  bring  them  to  the  impression  that, 
upon  the  principle  of  any  Church  being  better  than  nc 
Church,  they  may  gradually  be  absorbed  into  Protes- 
tantism. This  seems  to  be  their  policy ;  but  liovv  can 
any  policy,  based  upon  such  persecution,  and  so  gross- 
ly at  variance  with  human  liberty,  ever  succeed  !  As 
it  is,  we  go  out  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night,  when  even 
persecution  is  asleep,  and  administer  the  consolations 
of  religion  to  tlie  sick,  the  dying,  and  the  destitute. 
Now  these  stolen  visits  are  sweeter,  perhaps,  and  more 
efficacious,  than  if  they  took  place  in  freedom  and  the 
open  day.  Again,  we  educate  their  children  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  their  creed  during  the  same  lonely  hours,  in 
waste  houses,  where  we  are  obliged  to  keep  the  win- 
dows stuffed  with  straw,  or  covered  with  blhids  of  some 
sort,  lest  a  chance  discovery  might  ensue.  Such  is  the 
life  we  lead  ;  a  life  of  want,  and  suffering  ;  but  we  com- 
plain not;  on  the  contrary,  we  submit  ourselves  to  the 
will  of  God,  and  receive  this  severe  visitation  as  a  chas- 
tisement intended  for  our  good." 

The  necessities  of  our  narrative,  however,  compel  us 
to  leave  them  here,  for  the  present ;  but  not  Avithout  a 
hope  that  they  found  shelter  for  the  night,  as  we  trust 
we  shall  be  able  to  show. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EEILLY's  adventure  continued A  PROSPECT  OF  BYGONE 

TIMES REILLY  GETS  A  BED  IN  A  CURIOUS  ESTABLISHMENT. 

We  now  beg  our  readers  to  accompany  us  to  tlie  libra- 
ry of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  whei'e  that  worthy  gen- 


164  WILLY    REILLY. 

tleman  sits,  with  a  bottle  of  Madeira  before  iiim ;  for 
Sir  Robert,  in  addition  to  his  many  other  good  qualities, 
possessed  that  of  being  a  private  drinker.  The  bottle, 
we  say,  was  before  him,  and  with  a  smile  of  triumph 
and  satisfaction  on  his  face,  he  arose,  and  rangtlie  bell. 
In  a  few  minutes  a  liveried  servant  attended  it. 

"  Carson,  send  O'Donnel  here." 

Carson  bowed  and  retired,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
Red  Rapparee  entered. 

'^  How  is  this,  O'Donnel  f  Have  you  thrown   aside 
your  uniform  ! " 

**  I  did'n't  think  I'd  be    called  out  on   duty  again  to- 
night, sir." 

*^  It  doesn't   matter,    O'Donnel — it    doesn't  matter 
What  do  you  think  of  the  bonfire  ? " 

*'  Begad,  it  was  a  beauty,  sir,  and  well  managed." 

''Ay,  but  I  am  afraid,  O'Donnel,  I  went  a  little  toe 
far — that  I  stretched  my  authority  somewhat." 

*' But  isn't  he  a  rebel  and  an   outlaw.   Sir  Robert  1 
and  in  that  case — " 

''  Yes,  O'Donnel ;  and  a  rebel  and  outlaw  of  my  own 
making,  which  is  the  best  of  it.  The  fellow  might  have 
lain  there,  concocting  his  treason,  long  enough,  onlyfoi 
my  vigilance.  However,  it's  all  right.  The  Government, 
to  which  I  have  rendered  such  important  services,  will 
stand  by  me  and  fetch  me  out  of  the  burning — tliat  is, 
if  there  has  been  any  transgression  of  the  law  in  it 
The  Papists  are  privately  recruiting  for  the  French 
service,  and  that  is  felony  ;  Reilly  also  was  recruiting 
for  the  French  service — was  he  not'?  " 
•    '^  He  offered  me  a  commission,  sir." 

^'  Very  good,  that's  all  right ;  but  can  you  prove  that  !" 

^^Why,  I  can  swear  it.  Sir  Robert." 

'*  Better  still.     But  do  you  think  he  is  in  the  country, 
O'Donnel  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  swear  he  is,  sir,  than  that  he  is  not. 
He  won't  leave  her  aisily." 


WILLY    REILLY.  165 

*'  Whom  do  you  mean  by  lier^  sir  ?  " 

'^  I  would  rather  not  Uc^me  her,  your  honor,  in  con- 
nection with  the  vagabone." 

"  That's  delicate  of  you,  O'Donnel ;  I  highly  approve 
of  your  sentiment.     Here,  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

*'  Thank  you,  Sir  Robert ;  but  have  you  any  brandy, 
sir  ?  ^ly  tongue  is  as  dry  as  a  stick,  wid  that  glorious 
bonfire  we  had ;  but,  besides,  sir,  I  wish  to  drink  success 
to  you  in  all  your  undertakings.  A  happy  marriage, 
sir  !  "  and  he  accompanied  the  words  with  a  ferocious 
grin. 

"  You  shall  have  one  glass  of  brandy,  O'Donnel,  but 
no  more.     I  wish  you  to  deliver  a  letter  for  me  to-night. 

It  is  to  the  sheriff,  who  dines  with  Lord ,  a  friend  of 

mine ;  and  I  wish  you  to  deliver  it  at.  his  lordship's 
house,  where  you  will  be  sure  to  find  him.  The  letter 
is  of  the  greatest  importance,  and  you  will  take  care  to 
deliver  it  safely.  No  answer  by  you  is  required.  He 
was  out  to-day,  levying  fines  from  Popish  priests,  and  a 
heavy  one  from  the  Popish  bishop,  and  I  do  not  think, 
with  a  large  sum  of  money  about  him,  that  he  will  go 
home  to-night.  Here  is  the  letter.  I  expect  he  will  call 
on  me  in  the  morning-  to  breakfast — at  least  I  have  asked 
him — for  we  have  very  serious  business  to  discuss." 

The  Rapparee  took  the  letter,  finished  his  glass  of 
brandy,  and  disappeared,  to  fulfil  his  commission. 

Now  it  so  happened,  that  on  that  very  evening  be- 
fore the  premises  had  been  set  on  fire,  Mary  Mahon,  by. 
O'Donnel's  orders,  had  entered  the  house,  and  under, 
as  it  Avere  the  protection  of  the  military,  gathered  up  as 
much  of  Reilly's  clothes  and  linen  as  she  could  conven- 
iently carry  to  her  cottage,  which  was  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  Witecraft's  residence — it  being  the  interest 
of  this  hypocritical  voluptuary  to  have  the  corrupt 
wretch  near  him.  The  Rapparee,  having  left  White- 
craft  to  his  reflections,  immediately  directed  his  steps 
to  her  house,  and    with  her  connivance,   chancred  the 


166  WILLY    REILLY. 

dress  lie  had  on  for  one  which  she  had  taken  from 
Reilly's  wardrobe.  He  then  went  to  the  house  of  the 
nobleman  where  the  sheriff  was  dining,  but  arrived 
only  in  time  to  hear  that  he  was  about  to  take  horse  on 
his  return  home.  On  seeing"  him  preparing  to  mount, 
bearing  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  as  the  night  was  dark  and 
the  roads  bad,  he  instantly  changed  his  purpose  as  to 
the  letter,  and  came  to  the  resolution  of  not  delivering 
it  at  all.  I  can  easily  say,  thought  he,  that  the  sheriff 
had  gone  home  before  I  came,  and  that  will  be  a  very 
sufficient  excuse.  In  the  meantime,  he  added,  I  will 
cross  the  country  and  be  out  on  the  road  before  him. 
The  sheriff  was  not  unarmed,  however,  and  felt  himself 
tolerably  well  prepared  for  any  attack  that  might  be 
made  on  him  ;  and  besides  he  was  no  coward.  After  a 
ride  of  about  two  miles  he  found  himself  stopped,  and 
almost  at  the  same  instant  the  lantern  that  he  carried 
was  knocked  out  of  his  hand  and  extinguished,  but  not 
until  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  robber's  person,  who, 
from  his  dress,  appeared  to  be  a  man  much  above  the 
common  class.  Quick  as  lightning  he  pulled  out  one 
of  his  pistols,  and  cocking  it,  held  himself  in  readiness. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  this  preparation  for  self-de- 
fence was  unknown  to  his  assailant.  On  feeling  the 
reins  of  his  horse's  bridle  in  the  hand  of  the  robber,  he 
snapped  his  pistol  at  his  head,  but,  alas!  it  only  flashed 
in  the  pan.  The  robber,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not 
^seem  anxious  to  take  his  life,  for  it  was  a  principle 
among  the  Rapparees,  to  shed,  while  exercising  their 
rapacious  functions,  as  little  blood  as  possible.  They 
have  frequently  taken  life,  from  a  feeling  of  private 
vengeance,  but  not  often  while  robbing  on  the  king's 
highway.  Tiie  sheriff,  now  finding  that  one  pistol  had 
missed,  was  about  to  draw  out  the  second,  when  he 
was  knocked  insensible  off  his  horse,  and  on  recover- 
ing found  himself  minus  the  fines  which  he  had  tliat 
day  levied,  all  the  private  cash  about  him,  and  liis  case 


WILLY    REILLY.  167 

of  pistols.  Tills,  indeed,  was  a  bitter  incident  to  him  ; 
because,  in  addition  to  the  loss  of  his  private  purse  and 
hre-arms — which  he  valued  as  nothing- — he  knew  that 
he  was  responsible  to  Government  for  the  amount  of 
the  fines. 

With  considerable  difficulty  he  was  able  to  remount 
his  horse,  and  with  a  sense  of  stupor,  which  was  very- 
painful,  he  recommenced  his  journey  home.  After  n 
ride  of  about  two  miles,  he  met  three  horsemen,  who 
immediately  challenged  him,  and  demanded  his  name 
and  residence. 

^'  I  am  the  sheriff  of  the  county,"  he  replied,  ''and 
have  been  robbed  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and  my 
pistols ;  and  now,"  he  added,  "  may  I  beg  to  know  who 
you  are,  and  by  what  authority  you  demand  my  name 
and  residence  V^ 

''  Excuse  us,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  they  replied  :  ^'  we  belong 
to  the  military  detachment  which  Government  has 
placed  under  the  Control  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft." 

'*  0  indeed  ! "  exclaimed  the  sheriff ;  I  wish  to  heaven 
you  had  been  a  little  more  advanced  on  your  journey  ; 
you  might  have  saved  me  from  being  plundered,  as  I 
have  been,  and  probably  secured  the  robber." 

^'  Could  you  observe,  sir,  what  was  the  villain's  ap- 
pearance ! " 

''  I  had  a  small  lantern,"  replied  the  functionary,  *'  by 
which  I  caught  a  brief  but  uncertain  glance  of  him.  I 
am  not  quite  certain  that  I  could  recognize  his  features, 
though,  if  I  saw  him  again — but  perhaps  I  might ;  cer- 
tainly I  could  his  dress." 

"  How  was  he  dressed,  sir!  "  they  inquired. 

"Quite  beyond  the  common,"  said  the  sheriff;  ''  I 
think  he  had  on  a  brown  coat,  of  superior  cloth  and 
make,  and  I  think,  too,  the  buckles  of  his  shoes  were 
silver." 

''  And  his  features,  Mr.  Sheriff!  " 

*'I  cannot   exactly  say,"  he    returned  ;  "  I    was  too 


168  WILLY    REILLY. 

much  agitated  to  be  able  to  recollect  them  ;  but  indeed, 
the  dim  glimpse  I  got  was  too  brief  to  afford  me  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  them  with  anything  like  distinct- 
ness." 

"  From  the  description  you  have  given,  sir,"  said  one 
of  them,  "  the  man  that  robbed  you  must  have  been 
Reilly  the  Outlaw.  TJiat  is  the  very  dress  he  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  wearing.  Was  he  tall,  sir,  and 
stout  in  person  ?  " 

^'  He  was  a  very  large  man,  certainly,"  replied  the 
sheriff;  ''  and  I  regret  I  did  not  see  his  face  more  dis- 
tinctly." 

"  It  can  be  no  other,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  observed  the  man ; 
'^  the  fellow  has  no  means  of  living  now,  unless  by  levy- 
ing contributions  on  the  road.  For  my  part,  1  think 
the  scoundrel  can  make  himself  invisible  ;  but  it  must 
go  hard  with  us  or  we  Avill  secure  him  yet.  Would 
you  wish  an  escort  home,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?  because  if  you 
do,  we  shall  accompany  you." 

''No,"  replied  the  other;  *' I  thank  you.  I  would 
not  have  ventured  home  unattended  if  the  Eed  Rap- 
paree  had  been  still  at  his  vocation,  and  hi&  gang  un- 
dispersed  ;  bat  as  he  is  now  on  the  safe  side,  I  appre- 
hended no*  danger." 

^'Ifs  not  at  all  impossible  but  Reilly  may  step  into 
his  shoes,"  said  the  cavalry  man. 

''I  have  now  neither  money  nor  arms,"  continued 
the  sheriff;  "'  nothing  the  villain  robbers  could  covet, 
and  Avhat,  then,  have  I  to  fear  I  " 

''  You  have  a  life,  sir,"  observed  the  man  respectfully, 
''  and  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  it — the  life  of  a  man 
who  is  not  very  well  liked  in  the  country,  in  conse- 
quence of  certain  duties  you  are  obliged  to  perform. 
Come  then,  sir,  we  will  see  you  home." 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  the  slieriff  reached  his  own 
residence,  under  their  escort,  with  perfect  safety. 

This,  indeed,    was  a  niglit  of  adventure  to   Reilly — 


WILLY    REILLY.  169 

hunted,  as  lie  was,  like  a  beast  of  prey.  After  what 
had  taken  place  already  in  the  early  portion  of  it  he  ap- 
prehended no  further  pursuit,  and  in  this  respect  he 
felt  his  mind  comparatively  at  ease — for,  in  addition  to 
any  other  conviction  of  his  safety,  he  knew  tliat  the  night 
was  far  advanced,  and  as  the  country  was  unsettled,  he 
was  not  ignorant,  that  the  small  military  parties  that 
were  in  the  habit  of  scouring  the  country  generally — 
unless  when  in  the  execution  of  some  express  duty — 
retire  to  their  quarters  at  an  early  hour,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  severe  retaliations  which  were  frequently  made 
upon  them  by  the  infuriated  peasantry  whom  they — 
or  rather  the  government  which  employed  them — had 
almost  driven  to  madness,  and  would  have  driven  to 
insurrection  had  the  people  possessed  fhe  means  of 
rising.  As  it  was,  however,  he  dreaded  no  further  pur- 
suit this  night,  for  the  reasons  which  we  have  stated. 

In  the  meantime  the  sheriff,  feeling  obliged  by  the 
civility  of  the  three  dragoons,  gave  them  refreshments 
on  a  very  liberal  scale,  of  which — rather  exhausted  as 
they  were — they  made  a  very  libei'al  use.  Feeling 
themselves  now  considerably  stimulated  by  liquor, 
they  mounted  their  horses  and  proceeded  towards  their 
barracks  at  a  quick  pace.  In  consequence  of  the  lo- 
cality in  which  the  sheriff  lived,  it  was  necessary  that 
they  should  travel  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  by 
which  Reilly  and  the  priest  were  going.  At  all  events, 
after  riding  a  couple  of  miles,  they  overtook  three  in- 
fantry soldiers  who  were  also  on  their  way  to  quarters. 
The  blood,  however,  of  the  troopers  was  up — thanks  to 
the  sheriff — they  mentioned  the  robbery,  and  requested 
the  three  infantry  to  precede  them  as  an  advanced 
guard,  as  quietly  as  possible,  stating  that  there  might 
still  be  a  chance  of  coming"  across  the  villain  who  had 
plundered  the  sheriff,  intimating  their  impression,  at 
the  same  time,  that  Reilly  was  the  man,  and  adding, 
that  if  they  could  secure  him  their  fortune  was  made. 


170  WILLY  REILLY. 

As  has  always  been  usual  in  executing  cases  of  the  law- 
attended  with  peculiar  difficulty,  these  men — the  infan- 
try— like  our  present  detectives,  had  gone  out  that 
night  in  colored  clothes.  On  perceiving  two  individ- 
uals approaching  them  in  the  dim  distance,  they  im- 
mediately threw  their  guns  into  the  ditch,  lest  they 
should  put  our  friends  upon  their  guard,  and  cause 
them  to  escape  if  they  could.  Reilly  could  have  readily 
done  so  ;  but  having,  only  a  few  minutes  before,  heard 
from  the  poor  old  priest,  that  he  had  for  some  months 
past  been  branded  and  pursued  as  a  felon,  he  could 
not  think  of  abandonino:  him  now  that  he  was  feeble 
and  jaded  with  fatigue,  as  well  as  with  age.  Now  it 
so  happened  that  one  of  those  fellows  had  been  a  Ro- 
man Catholic,  and  having  committed  some  breach' of  the 
law,  found  it  as  safe  as  it  was  convenient  to  change 
his  creed,  and  as  he  spoke  the  Irish  language  fluentl}^ 
— indeed  there  was  scarcely  any  other  then  spoken  by 
the  peasantry — he  commenced  clapping  his  hands  on 
seeing  the  two  men,  and  expressing  the  deepest  sorrow 
for  the  loss  of  his  wife,  from  whose  funeral,  it  appeared 
from  his  lamentations,  he  was  tlien  returning. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  apprehend  here,"  said  Reilly  ; 
*'  this  poor  fellow  is  in  sorrow,  it  seems — God  help  him  ! 
Let  us  proceed." 

"  0,"  exclaimed  the  treacherous  villain,  clapping  his 
hands — we  translate  his  words — "  0  Yeeali  !  Yeeali !  * 
what  a  bitther  loss  you'll  be,  my  darlin'  Madge,  to  me 
and  your  orphan  childer;  now  and  forever  more !  () 
where  was  there  sich  a  wife,  neighbors  ?  Who  ever 
heard  her  harsh  word,  or  her  loud  voice  ?  And  from 
mornin'  till  night,  ever,  ever  busy  in  keepin'  every- 
thing tight,  and  clane,  and  regular!  Let  me  alone, 
will  yez  !  I'll  go  back  and  sleep  upon  her  grave  this 
night — so  I  will ;  and  if  all  the  blasted  sogers  in  Ireland 
— may  sweet  bad  kick  to  tliem  !— were  to  come  to  pre-. 

*G0d,  God. 


WILLY    REILLY.  171 

vent  me,  Vd  not  allow  them.  0  Madg-e,  darlin',  but  I'm 
the  lonely  and  heart-broken  man  widout  you  this  night!" 

"  Come,  come," said  the  priest,  "have  firmness,  poor 
man  ;  other  people  have  these  calamities  to  bear  as  well 
r.s  yourself.     Be  a  man." 

"  0  are  you  a  priest,  sir  I  bekase  if  you  are,  I  want 
consolation  if  ever  a  sorrowful  man  did." 

''  I  am  a  priest,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  man,  ''  and 
anything  I  can  do  to  calm  your  mind,  I'll  do  it." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  Reilly  felt 
his  two  arms  strongly  pinioned,  and  as  the  men  who 
had  seized  him  were  powerful,  the  struggle  between 
him  and  them  was  dreadful.  The  poor  priest,  at  the 
same  moment,  found  himself  also  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  the  bereaved  widower,  to  whom  he  proved  an  easy 
victim,  as  he  was  incapable  of  making  resistance,  which, 
indeed,  he  declined  to  attempt.  If  he  did  not  possess 
bodily  strength,  however,  he  w^as  not  without  presence 
of  mind. 

For  whilst  Reilly  and  his  captors  were  engaged  in  a 
fierce  and  powerful  conflict,  he  placed  his  forefinger  and 
thumb  in  his  mouth,  from  which  proceeded  a  whistle  so 
piercingly  loud  and  shrill,  that  it  awoke  the  midnight 
echoes  around  them.  This  was  considered  by  the  dra- 
goons as  a  signal  from  their  friends  in  advance,  and  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  moment,  they  set  spurs  to  their  horses, 
and  dashed  up  to  the  scene  of  struggle,  just  as  Reilly 
had  got  his  right  arm  extricated,  and  knocked  one  of 
his  captors  down.  In  an  instant,  however,  the  three 
dragoons,  aided  by  the  other  men,  were  upon  him,  and 
not  less  than  three  cavalry  pistols  were  levelled  at  his 
head.  Unfortunately  at  this  moment,  the  moon  began 
to  rise,  and  the  dragoons,  on  looking  at  him  more  closely, 
observed  that  he  was  dressed  precisely  as  the  sheriff  had 
described  the  person  who  robbed  him — the  browm  coat, 
light-colored  breeches,  and  silver  buckles — for  indeed 
this  was  his  usual  dress. 


172  WILLY    REILLY. 

^'  You  are  Will}"  Reilly,"  said  the  man  who  had  been 
spokesman  in  their  interview  with  the  sheriff;  ''  you 
needn't  deny  it,  sir — I  know  you  !" 

''If  you  know  me,  then,"  replied  Reilly,  "  where  is 
the  necessity  for  asking  my  name  f ' 

"  I  ask  again,  sir,  what  is  your  name  ?  If  you  be  the 
man  I  suspect  you  to  be,  you  will  deny  it," 

"  My  name,"  replied  the  .other,  "is  William  Reilly, 
and  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  crime  against  society — of 
no  offence  against  the  state — I  shall  not  deny  it." 

"  I  knew  I  was  right,"  said  the  dragoon.  "  Mr.  Reilly, 
you  are  our  prisoner  on  many  charges  ;  not  the  least  of 
which  is  your  robbery  of  the  sheriff  this  night.  You 
must  come  with  us  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  so  must 
this  other  person  who  seems  your  companion." 

"  Devil  a  foot  I'll  go  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  to- 
night," replied  the  priest.  "I  have  made  my  mind  up 
against  such  a  stretch  at  such  an  hour  as  this  ;  and  with 
the  help  of  God,  I'll  stick  to  my  resolution." 

"  Why  do  you  refuse  to  go  ?  "  asked  the  man,  a  good 
deal  surprised  at  such  language. 

"  Just  for  a  reason  I  have  ;  as  for  that  fellow  being 
Willy  Reilly,  he's  no  more  Willy  Reilly  than  I  am  ; 
whatever  he  is,  however,  he's  a  good  man  and  true,  but 
must  be  guided  by  wiser  heads  than  his  own ;  and  I 
now  tell  him — ay,  and  you  too — that  he  won't  see  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft's  treacherous  face  to-night,  no  more 
than  myself"   . 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  drag  tire  idolatrous  old 
rebel  along.  Come,  my  old  couple-beggar,  there's  a 
noose  before  you." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  when  twenty  men, 
armed  with  strong  pikes,  jumped  out  on  the  road  before 
them,  and  about  the  same  number,  with  similar  weapons, 
behind  them.  In  fact,  they  were  completely  hemmed 
in ;  and,  as  the  road  was  nari-ow  and  the  ditches  high, 
they  were  not  at  all  in  a  capacity  to  make  resistance. 


WILLY   llEILLY.  173 

*^  Surrender  your  prisoners,"  said  a  huge  man,  in  a 
voice  of  thunder — '*  surrender  your  prisoners — here  are 
we,  ten  to  one  against  you  ;  or  if  you  don't,  b}'  heaven 
and  earth,  there  won't  be  a  living  man  amongst  you  in 
two  minutes'  time.  Mark  us  well — we  are  every  man 
of  us  armed — and  I  will  not  take  the  same  oath  a  second 
time." 

As  to  numbers  and  weapons  the  man  spoke  truth,  and 
the  military  party  saw  at  once  that  their  prisoners  must 
be  given  up, 

**  Let  us  have  full  revenge  on  them  now,  boys,"  ex- 
claimed several  voices  ;  ''  down  with  the  tyrannical  vil- 
lains that  are  parsecutin'  and  murdherin'  the  country 
out  of  a  face.  This  night  closes  their  black  work ;"  and 
as  the  words  were  uttered,  the  military  felt  themselves 
environed  and  pressed  in  upon  by  upwards  of  five-and- 
twenty  sharp  and  bristling  pikes. 

^'  Itis  true,  you  may  murder  us,"  replied  the  dragoon ; 
^'  but  we  are  soldiers,  and  to  die  is  a  soldier's  duty. 
Stand  back,"  said  he ;  ^'  for,  by  all  that's  sacred, 
if  you  approach  another  step,  William  Reilly  and  that 
rebel  priest  will  fall  dead  at  your  feet.  We  may  die 
then;  but  we  will  sell  our  lives  dearly.  Cover  the 
priest,  Robinson." 

^'  Boys,"  said  the  priest,  addressing  the  insurgent 
party,  "hold  back  for  God's  sake,  and  for  mine.  Re- 
member that  these  men  are  only  doing  their  duty,  and 
that  whoever  is  to  be  blamed,  it  is  not  they — no,  but 
the  wicked  men  and  cruel  laws  that  set  them  upon  us. 
Why,  now,  if  these  men  out  of  compassion  and  a  feel- 
ing of  kindness  to  poor- persecuted  creatures,  as  we  are, 
took  into  their  heads  or  their  hearts  to  have  let  that  man 
and  me  off,  they  would  have  been  probably  shot  like 
dogs,  for  neglecting  their  duty.  I  am,  as  you  know, 
a  minister  of  God,  and  a  man  of  peace,  whose  duty  it 
is  to  prevent  bloodshed  wlienever  I  can,  and  save  hu- 
man life,  whether  it  is  that  of  a  Catholic  or  Protestant 


174  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

Recollect,  my  friends,  that  you  will,  evety  one  of  you, 
have  to  stand  before  the  judgment  throne  of  God,  to 
seek  for  mere}'  and  salvation.  As  you  hope  for  that 
mercy,  then,  at  the  moment  of  your  utmost  need, 
I  implore,  I  entreat  you,  to  show  these  men  mercy 
now,  and  allow  them  to  go  their  way  in  safety." 

^'I  agree  with  every  word  the  good  priest  has  said," 
added  Reilly :  ''  not  from  any  apprehension  of  the  threat 
held  out  against  myself,  but  from,  I  trust,  a  higher  prin- 
ciple.  Here  are  only  six  men,  who,  as  his  reverence 
justly  said,  are,  after  all,  only  in  the  discharge  of  their 
public  duty.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  at  least  forty 
or  fifty  of  you  against  them.  Now  I  appeal  to  your- 
selves, whether  it  would  be  a  manly,  or  generous,  or 
Christian  act,  to  slaughter  so  poor  a  handful  of  men  by 
the  force  of  numbers.  No ;  there  would  be  neither  credit 
nor  honor  in  such  an  act.  I  assure  you,  my  friends,  it 
would  disgrace  your  common  name,  your  common  cred- 
it, and  your  common  country.  Nay,  it  would  seem 
like  cowardice,  and  only  give  a  handle  to  your  enemies 
to  tax  you  with  it.  But  I  know  you  are  not  cowards, 
but  brave  and  generous  men,  whose  hearts  and  spirits 
are  above  a  mean  action.  If  you  icere  cowardly  but- 
chers, I  know  we  might  speak  to  you  in  vain;  but  we  know 
you  are  incapable  of  imbruing  your  hands  and  steeping 
your  souls  in  the  guilt  of  unresisting  blood — for  so  I  may 
term  it  where  there  are  so  few  against  so  many.  My 
friends,  go  home,  then,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  as  that 
reverend  gentleman  said,  allow  these  men  to  pass  their 
way  without  injury." 

"  But  who  are  you,"  said  their  huge  leader  in  his 
terrible  voice,  *'  that  presumes  to  lecture  us  I  " 

''I  am  one,"  replied  Reilly,  ''  who  has  suffered  more 
deeply,  probably,  tban  any  man  liere.  I  am  without 
house  or  home,  proscribed  by  the  vengeance  of  a  vil- 
lain— a  villain  who  has  left  me  without  a  shelter  for  miy 
head — who,  this  night,  has  reduced  my  habitation,  and 


Wnj.Y  RKTUT. 


175 


alltliat  appertained  to  it,  to  aheap  of  ashes — who  is  on 
my  trail,"nig"ht  and  dav,  who  will  be  on  my  trail,  in  or- 
der to  glut  his  vengeance  with  my  blood.  Now,  my 
friends,  listen— I  take  God  to  witness,  that  if  that  man 
were  here  at  this  moment,  I  would  })lead  for  his  life  witli 
as  much  earnestness  as  I  do  for  those  of  the  men  who 
are  here  at  3^our  mercy.  I  feel  that  it  would  be  cow- 
ardly and  inhuman  to  take  it  under  such  circumstances ; 
yes,  and  Im worthy  of  the  name  of  William  Eeilly. 
Now,"  he  added,  "  these  men  wnllpass  safely  to  their 
quarters." 

As  they  were  about  to  resume  their  journey,  the  person 
who  seemed  to  have  command  of  the  military,  said  : — 

''  Mr.  Reilly,  one  word  with  you:  I  feel  that  you 
have  saved  our  lives  ;  I  may  requite  you  for  that  gen- 
erous act  yet,"  and  he  pressed  his  hand  w^armly  as  he 
spoke ;  after  which  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 

That  Reilly  was  not  recognized  by  any  of  these  men 
is  accounted  for  by  a  well-known  custom,  peculiar  to 
such  meetings,  both  then  and  now.  The  persons  before 
and  around  him  were  all  strangers,  from  distant  parts  of 
the  country  ;  for  wdienever  an  outrage  is  to  be  com- 
mitted, or  a  nocturnal  drilling  to  take  place,  the  jjeasant- 
ry  start  across  the  country,  in  twos  and  threes,  until 
they  quietly  reach  some  lonely  and  remote  spot,  where 
their  persons  are  not  known. 

No  sooner  had  he  mentioned  his  name,  however,  than 
there  arose  a  peculiar  murmur  among  the  insurgents — 
such  a  murmur,  indeed,  as  it  was  difficult  to  under- 
stand ;  there  was  also  a  rapid-  consultation  in  Irish, 
which  w^as  closed  by  a  general  determination  to  restrain 
their  vengeance  for  that  night,  at  least,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  celebrated  young  martyr — for  as  such  thej^ 
looked  upon  him — to  allow  the  military  to  pass  on  with- 
out injury.  Reilly  then  addressed  them  in  Irish,  and 
thanked  them,  both  in  his  own  name  and  that  of  the 
priest,  for  the  respect  evinced  by  their  observation  of  the 


176  WIL'LY    REILLY. 

advice  ihey  had  given  them.  The  priest  also  address- 
ed them  in  Irish,  aware,  as  he  was,  that  one  sentence  in 
that  language,  especially  from  a  j)erson  in  a  superior 
rank  of  life,  carries  more  weight  than  a  v^^liole  oration 
in  the  language  of  the  Sassenagh.  The  poor  old  nun i' 
mind  was  once  more  at  ease  and  after  these  rough,  but 
not  intractable  men  had  given  three  cheers  for  "bould 
Willy  Reilly,"  three  more  for  the  Cohen  Imivn,  not  for- 
getting the  priest,  the  latter,  while  returning  thanks, 
had  them  in  convulsions  of  laughter. 

^'  May  I  never  do  harm,"  proceeded  his  reverence, 
humorously,  "  but  the  first  Christian  duty  that  every 
true  Catholic  oug-ht  to  learn  is  to  whistle  on  his  fino^ers. 
The  moment  ever  your  children-,  boys,  are  able  to  give 
a  squall,  clap  their  forefinger  and  thumb  in  their  mouth 
and  leave  the  rest  to  nature.  Let  them  talk  of  their 
spinet  and  sinnet,  their  fiddle  and  their  diddle,  their 
dancing  and  their  prancing,  bad  cess  to  the  genteel  ac- 
complishment able  to  be  compared  to  a  rousing  whistle 
on  the  fingers.  See  what  it  did  for  us  to-night.  My 
soul  to  glory;  but  only  for  it  Mr.  Reilly  and  I  would 
liave  soon  taken  a  journey  with  our  heels  foremost ; 
and  what  is  worse,  the  villains  would  have  forced  us  to 
take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  our  own  funeral  from  the  three 
sticks,  meaning  the  two  that  stand  up,  and  the  third 
that  goes  across  them.  However,  God's  good,  and 
after  all,  boys,  you  see  there  is  nothing  like  an  accom- 
plished education.  As  to  the  soldiers,  I  don't  think, 
myself,  that  they'll  recover  the  bit  of  fright  they  got  un- 
til the  new  potatoes  come  in.  Troth,  while  you  were 
gathering  in  about  them,  I  felt  that  the  unfortunate 
vagabonds  were  to  be  pitied  ;  but.  Lord  help  us,  wdien 
men  are  in  trouble — especially  in  fear  of  tlieir  lives — 
and  with  twelve  inches  of  sharp  iron  near  their  boigs, 
it's  wonderful  wdiat  effect  fear  will  have  on  them. 
Troth,  I  wasn't  far  from  feeling  tlie  same  thing  my- 
self, only  I  knew  there  w^as  relief  at  hand ;  at  all  events, 


WILLY    KEILLY.  177 

it's  well  you  kept  your  pikes  out  o'  them,  for  now,  tliank 
goodness,  you  can  step  home  without  the  guilt  of  mur- 
der on  your  souls." 

Father  Maguire,  forsucli  was  his  name,  possessed  the 
art  of  adapting  his  hmguage  and  dialect  to  those  wlioni 
he  addressed,  it  mattered  not  whether  they  were  South, 
West,  or  North ;  he  was,  in  fact,  what  they  called  a 
hedge-priest,  that  is  to  say,  a  priest  who  had  never 
been  in  any  college,  but  received  ordination  in  conse- 
quence of  the  severity  of  the  laws,  whose  operation,  by 
banishing  so  many  of  that  class  from  the  country,  ren- 
dered the  services  of  such  men  indispensable  to  the  spirit- 
ual wants  of  the  people.  Father  Maguire,  previous 
to  his  receiving  orders,  had  been  a  schoolmaster,  and 
exercised  his  functions  in  that  capacity  in  holes  and 
corners  ;  sometimes  on  the  slieltry  or  sunny  side  of  a 
hedge,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  on  other  occasions, 
when  and  where  he  could.  In  his  magisterial  capacity, 
^'  the  accomplishment"  of  whistling  was  absolutely  nec- 
essary to  him  ;  because  it  often  happened  that  in  steal- 
ing in  the  morning  from  his  retreat  during  the  preced- 
ino"  nior-ht,  he  knew  no  more  where  to  meet  his  little 
flock  of  scholars,  than  they  did  where  to  meet  him,  the 
truth  being,  that  he  seldom  found  it  safe  to  teach  two 
days  successively  in  the  same  place.  Having  selected 
the  locality  for  instruction  during  the  day,  he  put  his 
forefinger  and  thumb  into  his  mouth,  and  emitted  a 
whistle  that  went  over  half  the  country.  Having  thus 
given  the  signal  three  times,  his  scholars  began  gradu- 
ally and  cautiously  to  make  their  appearance,  radiating 
towards  him  from  all  directions,  reminding  one  of  a  hen 
in  a  farm-yard,  who  having  fallen  upon  some  whole- 
some crumbs,  she  utters  that  peculiar  sound  which  imme- 
diately collects  her  eager  little  flock  about  her,  in  order 
to  dispense  among  them  the  good  things  she  has  to  give. 
Poor  Fatlier  Maguire  was  simplicity  itself,  for  although 
cheerful,  and  a  good  deal  of  a  humorist,    yet  lie  was 


178  WILLY    REILLY. 

pious,  inoffensive,  and  charitable.  True,  it  is  not  to  be 
imagined  that  he  could  avoid  bearing  a  very  strong 
feeling  of  enmity  against  the  Establishment,  as  indeed, 
we  do  not  see,  so  long  as  human  nature  is  what  it  is,  how 
he  could  have  done  otherwise  ;  he  hated  it,  however,  in 
the  aggregate,  not  in  detail,  for  the  truth  is,  that  he  re- 
ceived shelter  and  protection  nearly  as  often  from  the 
Protestants  themselves,  both  lay  and  clerical,  as  he  did 
from  those  of  his  own  creed.  The  poor  man's  crime 
against  the  state  proceeded  naturally  from  the  simplicity 
of  his  character  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  A  Prot- 
estant peasant  had  seduced  a  Catholic  young  woman  of 
considerable  attractions,  and  was  prevailed  upon  to  mar- 
ry her,  in  order  to  legitimatize  the  infant  which  she  was 
about  to  bear.  Our  poor  priest,  anxious  to  do  as  much 
good,  and  to  prevent  as  much  evil  as  he  could,  was  pre- 
vailed upon  to  perform  the  ceremony,  contrary  to  the 
law  in  that  case  made  and  provided.  Ever  since  that, 
the  poor  man  had  been  upon  his  keeping  like  a  felon, 
as  the  law  had  made  him  ;  but  so  well-known  were  his 
harmless  life,  his  goodness  of  heart,  and  his  general  ben- 
evolence of  disposition — for,  alas !  he  was  incapable 
of  being  benevolent  in  any  practical  sense — that,  unless 
among  the  bigoted  officials  of  the  day,  there  existed  no 
very  strong  disposition  to  hand  him  over  to  the  clutches 
of  the  terrible  statute  which  he  had — good,  easy  man- 
been  prevailed  on  to  violate. 

In  the  meantime  the  formidable  body  who  had  saved 
Reilly's  life  and  his  own,  dispersed,  or  disappeared  at 
least,  but  not  until  they  had  shaken  hands  most  cor- 
dially with  Reilly  and  the  priest,  wlio  now  found  them- 
selves much  in  the  same  position  in  which  they  stood 
previous  to  their  surprise  and  arrest. 

*'Now,"  said  Reilly,  ''the  question  is,  what  are  we 
to  do  ?  where  are  we  to  go  I  and  next,  how  did  you 
come  to  know  of  the  existence  in  this  precise  locality 
of  such  a  bod}^  of  men  I " 


WILLY    REILLY.  179 

^'  Because  I  have  set  my  face  against  suck  meetings," 
replied  the  priest.  "One  of  those  who  was  engaged 
to  be  present  happened  to  mention  the  fact  to  me  as 
a  clergyman,  but  you  kno^y  that,  as  a  clergyman,  I 
can  proceed  no  further." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Reilly,  ''  I  perfectly  understand 
you.     It  it  not  necessar}'.     And  now  let  me  say — " 

'^  Always  trust  in  God,  tnj  friend,"  replied  the  priest 
in  an  accent  quite  different  from  that  which  he  had 
used  to  the  peasantry.  "  I  told  you  not  long  ago,  that 
you  would  have  a  bed  to-night : — follow  me  and  I  will 
lead  you  to  a  crypt  of  nature's  own  making,  which 
was  not  known  to  mortal  man  three  months  ago,  and 
which  is  now  known  only  to  those  whose  interest  it  is 
to  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  as  silent  as  the  grave." 

They  then  proceeded,  and  soon  came  to  a  gap  or 
opening  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road,  through 
w^hich  they  passed,  the  priest  leading.  Next  they  found 
themselves  in  a  wild  gully  or  ravine,  that  was  both 
deep  and  narrow.  This  they  crossed,  and  arrived  at  a 
ledge  of  precipitous  rocks,  most  or  which  were  over- 
hung to  the  very  ground  with  long,  luxuriant  heather. 
The  priest  went  along  this  until  he  came  to  one  partic- 
ular spot,  when  he  stopped,  and  observed  a  particular 
round  stone  bedded  naturally  in  the  earth. 

*'  God — blessed  be  his  name — has  made  nothing  in 
vain  !  "  he  whispered  ;  "I  must  go  foremost,  but  do  as 
I  do."  He  then  raised  up  the  long  heath,  and  entered 
a  low,  narrow  fissure  in  the  rocks,  Reilly  following  him 
closely.  The  entrance  was  indeed  so  narrow  that  ir 
was  capable  of  admitting  but  one  man  at  a  time,  and 
even  that  by  his  working  himself  in  upon  his  knees 
and  elbows.  In  this  manner  they  advanced  in  utter 
darkness  for  about  thirty  yards,  when  they  reached  a 
second  opening,  about  tlu'ee  feet  high,  whicli  bore  some 
resemblance  to  a  Gothic  arch.  This  also  it  was  neces- 
sary to  enter  consecutively.     Having  passed  this,  they 


180  WILLY    REILLY. 

were  able  to  proceed  upon  their  legs,  still  stooping,  how- 
ever, until,  as  they  got  onwards,  they  found  themselves 
able  to  walk  erect.     A  third  and  larger  opening,  how- 
ever, was  still  before  them,  over   which  hung  a  large 
thick  winnow  cloth. 

"  Now,"  said  the  priest,  ^' leave  everything  to  me. 
If  we  were  to  put  our  heads  in  rashly  here,  we  might 
get  a  pair  of  bullets  through  them  that  would  have  as 
little  mercy  on  us  as  those  of  the  troopers,  had  we  got 
them." 

He  then  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  shook  the  win- 
now cloth  three  times,  when  a  deep  voice  from  behind 
it  asked,  '*  Quis  venit  .^  "  ^'  Introibo  ad  altare  Dei,^'  replied 
the  priest,  who  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than 
the  cloth  was  partially  removed,  and  a  voice  exclaimed, 
^' Benedkiie,  dilecte  frater,  heatus  qui  veniat  in  nomine 
Domini  et  sacrosanctm  Ecdesite.''^ 

Reilly  and  his  companion  then  entered  the  cave, 
which  they  had  no  sooner  done  than  the  former  was 
seized  with  a  degree  of  wonder,  astonishment  and  awe, 
such  as  he  had  never  experienced  in  his  life  before. 
The  whole  cavern  was  one  flashing  scene  of  light  and 
beauty,  and  reminded  him  of  the  gorgeous  descriptions 
that  were  to  be  found  in  Arabian  literature,  or  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  fairy  palaces  as  he  had  heard  of  them  in  the 
mellow  legends  of  his  own  country.  From  the  roof  de- 
pended gorgeous  and  immense  stalactites,  some  of  them 
reacln'ng  half-way  to  the  earth,  andothersof  themresting 
upon  the  earth  itself  Several  torches,  composed  of 
dried  bog  fir,  threw  their  strong  light  among  them  with 
such  effect,  that  the  eye  became  not  only  dazzled  but 
fatigued  and  overcome  by  the  radiance  of  a  scene  so 
unusual.  In  f^\ct,  the  whole  scene  appeared  to  be  out 
of  or  beyond  nature.  There  were  about  fifteen  individ- 
uals present,  most  of  them  in  odd  and  peculiar  disguises, 
which  gnvethem  a  grotesque  and  supernatural  appear- 
ance, as  they  passed  about  with  their  strong  torches— 


WILLY    REILLT.  l81 

some  briglit  and  some  flashing  red  ;  and  as  tlie  light  of 
either  one  or  other  fell  upon  the  stalactites,  giving  them  a 
hue  of  singular  brilliancy  or  deep  purple,  Reilly  could 
not  utter  a  word.  The  costumes  of  the  individuals 
about  liim  were  so  strange  and  varied  that  he  knew  not 
wdiat  to  think.  Some  were  in  the  dress  of  clergymen, 
others  in  that  of  ill- clad  peasants,  and  nearly  one-third 
of  them  in  the  garb  of  mendicants,  who,  from  their  care- 
worn faces,  appeared  to  have  suffered  severely  from  the 
persecution  of  the  times.  In  a  few  minutes,  however, 
about  half  a  dozen  diminutive  beings  made  their  ap- 
pearance, busied,  as  far  as  he  could  guess,  in  employ- 
ments which  his  amazement  at  the  whole  spectacle, 
unprepared  as  he  was  for  it,  prevented  him  from  under- 
standing. If  he  had  been  a  man  of  a  weak  or  super- 
stitious mind,  unacquainted  with  life  and  the  world,  it 
is  impossible  to  say  what  he  might  have  imagined. 
Independently  of  this — strong-minded  as  he  was — the 
impression  made  upon  him  by  the  elf-like  sprites  that 
ran  about  so  busily  almost  induced  him,  for  a  few 
moments,  to  surrender  to  the  illusion  that  he  stood 
among  individuals  who  had  little  or  no  natural  connec- 
tion with  man  or  the  external  world  which  he  inhabited. 
Reflection,  however,  and  the  state  of  the  country 
came  to  his  aid,  and  he  reasonably  inferred  that  the 
cavern  in  which  he  stood  was  a  place  of  concealment 
for  those  unfortunate  individuals  who,  like  himself,  felt 
it  necessary  to  evade  the  vengeance  of  the  laws. 

Whilst  Reilly  was  absorbed  in  the  novelty  and  ex- 
citement of  this  strange  and  all  but  supernatural  spec- 
tacle, the  priest  held  a  short  conversation,  at  some  dis- 
tance from  Reilly,  with  the  strange  figures  which  had 
surprised  him  so  much.  Whenever  he  felt  himself  en- 
abled to  take  his  eyes  from  the  splendor  and  magnifi- 
cence of  all  he  saw  around  him,  to  follow  the  motions 
of  Father  Maguire,  he  could  observe  that  that  gentle- 
man, from  the  peculiar  -vehemence  of  his  attitudes  and 


182    .  WILLY    REILLY. 

the  evident  rapidity  of  liis  language,  had  made  either 
himself  or  his  presence  there  the  topic  of  very  earnest 
discussion.  In  fact,  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  priest, 
from  whatever  cause,  appeared  to  be  rather  hard  set  to 
defend  him  and  to  justify  his  presence  among  them.  A 
tall,  stern-looking  man,  with  a  lofty  forehead  and  pale 
ascetic  features,  from  which  all  the  genial  impulses  of 
humanity  that  had  once  characterized  them  seemed  al- 
most to  have  been  banished  by  the  spirit  of  relentless 
persecution,  appeared  to  bear  hard  upon  him,  whatever 
the  charge  might  be,  and  by  the  severity  of  his  manner, 
and  the  solemn  but  unyielding  emphasis  of  his  attitudes, 
he  seemed  to  have  wrought  himself  into  a  state  of  deep 
indignation.  But  as  it  is  better  that  our  readers 
should  be  made  acquainted  with  the  topic  of  their  discus- 
sion, rather  than  their  attitudes,  we  think  it  necessary 
to  commence  it  in  a  new  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SCENES    THAT  TOOK  PLACE  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN  CAVE. 

*^  I  will  not  hear  your  apology,  brother,"  said  the 
tall  man  with  the  stern  voice  ;  "your  conduct,  knowing 
our  position,  and  the  state  of  this  unhappy  and  perse- 
cuted country,  is  not  only  indiscreet,  but  foolish,  inde- 
fensible, mad.  Here  is  a  young  man^  attached — may 
God  pardon  him  ! — to  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most 
persecuting  heretics  in  tlie  kingdom.  She  is  beautiful, 
by  every  report  that  we  have  heard  of  her,  ev^en  as  an 
angel ;  but  reflect  that  she  is  an  heiress — the  inheritress 
of  immense  property — and  that,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
the  temptations  are  a  thousand  to  one  against  him.  He 
will  yield,  I  tell  you,  to  the  heretic  siren ;  and,  as  a 
passport  to  her  father's  favor  and  her  affection,  he  will, 


WILLY    RKILLY.  183 

like  too  many  of  his  class,  abandon  the  faith  of  liis  an- 
cestors, and  become  ?tn  apostate,  for  the  sake  of  wealth 
and  sensual  affection." 

'*  J  question  my  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  ''  whether 
it  is  consistent  with  Christian  charity  to  impute  motives 
of  such  heinous  guilt,  when  we  are  not  in  a  condition 
to  bear  out  our  suspicions.  The  character  of  this  young 
gentleman  as  a  Catholic  is  firm  and  faithful,  and  I  will 
stake  my  life  upon  his  truth  and  attachment  to  our 
Church." 

"You  know  him  not,  father,"  replied  the  bishop,  for 
such  he  was ;  ''I  tell  you,  and  I  speak  from  better  in- 
formation than  you  possess,  that  he  is  already  suspected. 
What  has  been  his  conduct  ?  He  has  associated  him- 
self more  with  heretics  than  with  those  of  his  own 
Church  ;  he  has  dined  with  them,  partaken  of  their  hos- 
pitality, joined  in  their  amusements,  slept  in  their 
houses,  and  been  with  them  as  a  familiar  friend  and 
boon  companion.  I  see,  father,  what  the  result  will 
necessarily  be ;  first  an  apostate — next,  an  informer — 
and,  lastly,  a  persecutor ;  and  all  for  the  sake  of  wealth 
and  the  seductive  charms  of  a  heretic  woman.  I  say, 
then,  that  deep  in  the  cold  clay  of  this  cavern  shall  he 
find  his  grave  to-night,  rather  than  have  an  opportunity 
of  betraying  the  shepherds  of  Christ's  persecuted  flock, 
and  of  hunting  them  into  the  caverns  of  the  earth  like 
beasts  of  prey.  Our  retreat  here  is  known  only  to  those 
who,  for  the  sake  of  truth  and  their  own  lives,  will 
never  disclose  the  knowledge  of  it,  bound  as  they  are, 
in  addition  to  this,  by  an  oath  of  the  deepest  and  most 
dreadful  solemnity — ini  oath  the  violation  of  which 
would  constitute  a  fearful  sacrilege  in  the  eye  of  God. 
As  for  these  orphans,  whose  parents  were  victims  to  the 
cruel  laws  that  are  grinding  us,  I  have  so  trained  and 
indoctrinated  them  into  a  knowledge  of  their  creed,  and 
a  sense  of  their  duty,  that  the}'  are  thoroughly  trust- 
worthy.    On  this  very  day  I  administered  to  them  the 


184  WILLY    REILLY. 

sacrament  of  confirmation.  No,  brotlier,  we  cannot 
sacrifice  the  interests  and  welfare  of  our  holy  Church  to 
the  safety  of  a  single  life^to  the  safety  of  a  person  who, 
I  foresee,  will  be  certain  to  betray  us." 

''  My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  '^  I  humbly  admit  your 
authority  and  superior  sanctity,  for  in  what  does  your  pre- 
cious life  fall  short  of  martyrdom  but  by  one  step  to  the  ele- 
vation which  leads  to  glory  1 1  mean  the  surrendering  of 
that  life  for  the  true  faith.  I  feel,  my  lord,  that  in  your 
presence  I  am  nothing :  still,  in  our  holy  Church  there  is 
the  humble  as  well  as  the  exalted,  and  your  lordship  will 
admit  that  the  gradations  oi  piety,  and  the  dispensations 
of  the  higher  and  the  lower  gifts  proceed  not  onl}^  from 
the  wisdom  of  God  but  from  the  necessities  of  man." 

'^  I  do  not  properly  understand  you,  father,"  said 
the  bishop,  in  a  voice  whose  stern  tones  were  mingled 
with  something  like  contempt. 

"I  beg  your  lordship  to  hear  me,"  proceeded  Father 
Maguire,  "  You  say  that  Reilly  has  associated  more  fre- 
quently with  Protestants  than  he  has  with  persons  of  our 
own  religion.  That  maybe  true,  and  I  grant  that  itis  so ; 
but,  my  lord,  are  you  aware  that  he  has  exercised  the  in- 
fluence which  he  has  possessed  over  them  for  the  pro- 
tection and  advantage  and  safety  of  his  Catholic  friends 
and  neighbors,  to  the  very  uttermost  of  his  ability,  and 
frequently  with  success  I  " 

^'  Yes  ;  they  obliged  him  because  they  calculated 
upon  his  accession  to  their  creed  and  principles." 

^'My  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  with  firmness,  "  I  am 
an  humble  but  an  independent  man  ;  if  humanity  and 
generosity,  exercised  as  I  have  seen  them  this  night, 
guided  and  directed  by  the  spirit  of  peace  and  of  the 
word  of  God  itself,  can  afford  3^our  lordship  a  guaranty 
of  the  high  and  Christian  principles  by  which  that 
young  man's  heart  is  actuated,  then  I  may  with  con- 
fidence recommend  him  to  your  clemency." 

''What  would  you  say  I  "  asked  the  bishop. 


WILLY    REILLY.  185 

^^  My  lord,  lie  was  the  principal  means  of  saving,  the 
lives  of  six  Protestants — hei'etics,  I  mean — from  being 
cut  off  in  their  iniquities  and  sins  this  night." 

"  How  do  you  mean  f  "  replied  the  stern  bishop  ; 
''  explain  yourself? " 

The  good  priest  then  gave  a  succinct  account  of  the 
circumstances  with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquaint- 
ed, and,  after  having  finished  his  brief  narrative,  the  un- 
fortunate man  perceived  that,  instead  of  having  render- 
ed Reilly  a  service,  he  had  strengthened  the  suspicions 
of  the  prelate  against  him. 

^'  So  !  "  said  the  bishop,  ''  you  advance  the  history  of 
this  dastardly  conduct  as  an  argument  in  his  favor  ! 
The  bloodthirsty  persecutors — the  dogs,  that  would  lap 
our  blood — the  murderous  sons  of  Belial — were  in  his 
hands  and  yours,  and  ye  slew  them  not !  I  tell  you  that 
if  it  were  for  nothing  else  than  this,  the  unfaithful  caitiff 
shall  die  the  death." 

'^It  was  said,  my  lord,"  replied  the  priest,  who,  in 
point  of  fact,  could  scarcely  repress  his  indignation — 
**  it  was  said,  my  lord,  of  Paul — " 

^^  Saint  Paul,  sir  !  I  hope  you  are  not  becoming  re- 
laxed also — " 

"  It  was  said,  my  lord,  of  Saint  Paul,  that  too  much 
learning  had  made  him  mad,  and  with  the  deepest  hu- 
mility and  respect,  I  say,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  too  much 
zeal  for  the  interests  of  our  holy  Church  hath  absorbed 
and  eaten  up  that  spirit  of  charity  and  humanity  in 
your  lordship's  heart,  which  persecution  ought  to  teach 
us." 

This  was  a  desperate  length  to  go  with  such  a  man, 
but  the  worthy  priest,  having  the  high  blood  of  the 
Fermanagh  Maguiresin  his  veins,  was  as  fearless  as  he 
was  humane  and  pious.  Perhaps,  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  encouraged  in  speaking  as  he  did,  by  observ- 
ing that  those  who  stood  around  them  seemed,  by  the 
expression  of  their  features,   which  betrayed  no  small 


186  WILLY    REILLY. 

share  of  astonishment,  to  dissent  very  strongly  from  the 
principles  laid  down  by  the  hard  and  unfeeling  prelate- 

*'  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  on  the  priest  with  an 
eye  that  blazed  with  indignation,  "do  you  dare,  sir,  to 
become  contumacious!" 

"  No,  my  lord,  far  be  the  thought  from  me  ;  but, with 
your  lordship's  good  will,  I  dare  to  speak  the  trutli, 
when  I  feel  that  I  have  the  permission  of  God,  and  I 
trust  of  an  unsullied  conscience,  to  do  so.'' 

"  An  erroneous  conscience,  sir,  and  I  fear  me  a  taint- 
ed conscience — perhaps  with  lieresy,  for  ought  I  know. 
You  allowed  these  men  of  blood  to  pass  scatliless,  forget- 
ting the  command  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  to  Saul,  '  Now 
go  and  smite  Amalek,  and  utterly  destroy  all  that  they 
have,  and  spare  them  not,  but  slay  both  man  and 
woman,  infant  and  suckling,  ox  and  sheep,  camel  and 
ass';  and  for  the  violation  of  this  command,  remember 
that  Saul  lost  his  kingdom.  Are  not  we,  too,  surround- 
ed and  oppressed,  and  persecuted  by  Amalekites  ?  And 
shall  we  not  crush  and  slay  them  whenever  we  can  !" 

As  he  uttered  these  Avords,  his  eyes,  which  had  actu- 
ally become  bloodshot,  blazed  again  ;  his  breath  went 
and  came  strongly,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

Father  Maguire,  and  those  who  were  present,  looked 
at  each  other  with  e3^es  in  which  might  be  read  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  sorrow  and  compassion.  At  length  a 
mild  looking,  pale-faced  man,  with  a  clear,  benignant 
eye,  approached  him,  and  laying  his  hand  in  a  gentle 
manner  upon  his  arm,  said:  '^  Pray,  my  dear  lord,  re- 
member that  we  live  now  under  a  new  and  different  dis- 
pensation. You  speak  now  my  lord,  as  the  prophet 
who  would  denounce  his  enemies  ;  but  let  me  entreat 
3^our  lordship  to  remember  the  precepts  of  our  great 
Master  :  '  Love  3^our  enemies  ;  bless  them  that  curse 
you  ;  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them 
that  despitefuUy  use  you,  and  persecute  you.'  And 
surely,  my  lord,  no  one  knows  better  than  you  do,  that 


\V1LLV    REILLY".  187 

this  is  the  spirit  of  our  religion,  and  that  whenever  it  is 
viohited  the  fault  is  not  that  of  the  creed  but  the  man.'' 

"  Under  any  circumstances,"  said  he,  declining  to  re- 
ply to  this,  and  placing  his  open  hand  across  his  foi-e- 
head,  as  if  he  felt  confusion  or  pain — ''  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, tliis  person  must  take  the  oath  of  secrec\ 
with  respect  to  the  existence  of  tliis  cave     Call  him  up/' 

Reilly,  as  w^e  have  said,  saw  at  once  that  an  angry 
discussion  had  taken  place,  and  felt  all  but  certain  that 
he  w^as  himself  involved  in  it.  The  priest,  in  obedience 
to  the  wish  expressed  by  the  bishop,  went  down  to 
where  he  stood,  and  whispering  to  him  said  : — 

"  Salvation  to  me,  but  I  had  a  liard  battle  for  you.  I 
fought,  however,  like  a  trump.  The  strange  and — 
ahem — kind  of  man  you  are  called  upon  to  meet  now, 
is  one  of  our  bishops — but  don't  you  pretend  to  know 
that — he  has  heard  of  your  love  for  the  Coleen  Baivn, 
and  of  her  love  for  you — be  easy,  now — sorra  thing  it 
will  be  but  the  meeting  of  two  thunderbolts  between 
you — and  he's  afraid  you'll  be  deluded  by  her  charms — 
turn  apostate  on  our  hands — and  that  the  first  thing 
you're  likely  to  do,  when  you  get  out  of  this  subterra- 
nean palace  of  ours,  will  be  to  betray  its  existence  to 
the  heretics  !  I  liave  now  put  you  on  your  guard,  so 
keep  a  sharp  lookout ;  be  mild  as  mother's  milk.  But 
if  you  my  lord  him  I'm  dished  as  a  traitor  beyond  re- 
demption." 

Now,  if  the  simple-hearted  priest  had  been  tempted 
by  the  enemy  himself  to  place  these  two  men  in  a 
position  where  a  battle-royal  between  them  was  most 
likely  to  ensue,  he  could  not  have  taken  a  more  suc- 
cessful course  for  that  object.  Reilly,  the  firm,  tlie 
high-minded,  the  honorable,  and,  though  last  not  least, 
the  most  indignant  at  any  imputation  against  his  in- 
tegrity, now  accompanied  the  priest  in  a  state  of  indig- 
nation that  was  nearly  a  match  for  that  of  tlie  bishop. 

*'  This  is  Mr.  Reill^^,  gentlemen  j  a  firm  and  an  lion- 


188  WILLY   REILLY, 

est  Catliolic,  who,  like  ourselves,  is  suffering  for  bis 
religion/' 

"Mr.  Reilly,"  said  the  bishop,  "it  is  good  to  suffer 
for  our  religion." 

"It  is  our  duty,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "when  we  are 
called  upon  to  do  so  ;  but  for  my  part,  I  must  confess, 
I  have  no  relish  whatsoever  for  the  honors  of  martyrdom. 
I  would  rather  aid  it  and  assist  it,  than  suffer  for  it." 

The  bishop  gave  a  stern  look  at  his  friends,  as  much 
as  to  say  :  "  You  hear !  incipient  heresy  and  treachery 
at  the  first  step." 

"He's  more  mad  than  the  bishop,"  thought  Father 
Maguire;  "he's  a  doomed  case,  and  I  see,  unless  a 
miracle  saves  him,  that  I  may  as  well  have  myself  pre- 
pared for  the  death  service  over  him ;  but  in  God's 
name,  what  will  come  next,  I  wonder  f  Reilly's  blood, 
somehow,  is  up ;  and  there  they  are  looking  at  each 
other,  like  a  pair  o'  game-cocks,  with  their  necks 
stretched  out  in  a  cockpit— when  I  was  a  boy  I  used 
to  go  to  see  them — ready  to  dash  upon  one  anotlier." 

"Are  you  not  now  suffering  for  your  religion?" 
asked  the  prelate. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "it  is  not  for  tlie  sake  of 
my  religion  that  I  have  suffered  an3'thing.  Religion 
is  made  only  a  pretext  for  it ;  but  it  is  not,  in  truth, 
on  that  account  that  I  have  been  persecuted." 

"  Pray  then,  sir,  may  1  inquire  the  cause  of  your 
persecution  I " 

"  You  may,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  ''  but  I  shall  decline 
to  answer  you.  It  comes  not  within  your  jurisdiction, 
but  is  a  matter  altogether  personal  to  myself,  and  with 
which  you  can  have  no  concern." 

Here  a  groan  from  the  priest,  which  he  could  'not 
suppress,  w^as  shivered  off,  by  a  tremendous  effort, 
into  a  series  of  broken  coughs,  got  up  in  order  to  con- 
ceal his  alarm  at  the  fatal  progress  which  Reilly,  he 
thought,  was  unconsciously  making  to  his  own  ruin. 


WILLY    REILLY.  189 

^*  Troth,"  thought  he,  '^  tlie  soldiers  were  nothing  ut 
all  to  what  this  will  be.  There  his  friends  would  have 
found  the  body  and  given  liim  a  decent  burial ;  but 
here  neither  friend  nor  fellow  will  know  where  to  look 
for  him.  1  was  almost  the  first  man  that  took  the  oath 
to  keep  the  existence  of  this  place  secret  from  all  unless 
those  tliat  were  suffering  for  their  religion  ;  and  now, 
by  denving  that,  he  has  me  in  the  trap  along  with  him- 
self" 

A  second  groan,  shaken  out  of  its  continuity  into 
another  comical  shower  of  fragmental  coughs,  closed 
this  dreary  but  silent  soliloquy. 

The  bishop  proceeded  :  "  You  have  been  inveigled, 
young  man,  by  the  charms  of  a  deceitful  and  heretical 
siren,  for  the  purpose  of  alienating  you  from  the  creed 
of  your  forefathers  " 

"  It  is  false,"  replied  Reilly ;  ^'  false,  if  it  proceeded 
from  the  lips  of  the  Pope  himself ;  and  if  his  lips  uttered 
to  me  what  you  now  have  done,  I  would  fling  the 
falsehood  in  his  teeth,  as  I  do  now  in  yours — yes,  by 

,  if  my  life  should  pay  the  forfeit  of  it.     What 

have  you  to  do,  sir,  with  my  private  concerns  ?  " 

Reilly's  indignant  and  impetuous  I'eply  to  the  pre- 
late struck  all  who  heard  it  with  dismay,  and  also  with 
horror,  when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the  conse- 
quences. 

"  You  are  a  heretic  at  heart,"  said  the  other,  knitting 
his  brows  ;  ''from  your  own  language  you  stand  con- 
fessed— a  heretic." 

''  I  know  not,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  '^  by  what  right  or 
authority  you  adopt  this  ungentlemanly  and  illiberal 
conduct  towards  me  ;  but  so  long  as  your  language  ap- 
plies only  to  myself  and  my  religion,  I  shall  answer 
you  in  a  different  spirit.  In  the  first  place,  then,  you 
are  grievously  mistaken  in  supposing  me  to  be  a  here- 
tic. I  am  true  and  faithful  to  my  creed,  and  will  live 
and  die  in  it." 


190  WILLY    REILLY. 

Father  Maguire  felt  relieved,  and  breathed  more 
freely ;  a  groan  was  coming,  but  it  ended  in  a  ''  hem." 

''  Before  w^e  proceed  any  farther,  sir,"  said  this 
strange  man,  "  you  must  take  an  oath." 

"  For  what  purpose,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Reilly. 

''  An  oath  of  secrecy  as  to  the  existence  of  this  place 
of  our  retreat.  There  are  present  here  some  of  the — " 
He  checked  himself,  as  if  afraid  to  proceed  further. 
^'  In  fact,  every  man  who  is  admitted  amongst  us  must 
take  the  oath,  and  that  at  the  peril  of  his  life." 

Reilly  look  at  him  with  indignation.  Surely,  thought 
he  to  himself,  this  man  must  be  mad ;  his  looks  are 
wild,  and  the  fire  of  insanity  is  in  his  eyes ;  if  not,  he 
is  nothinoc  less  than  an  incarnation  of  ecclesiastical  bio^ot- 
ry  and  folly.  At  the  peril  of  my  life  !  The  man 
must  be  mad,  or  worse.     At  length  he  addressed  him. 

'^  You  doubt  my  integrity  and  my  honor,  then  f  he 
replied,  haughtily. 

^'  We  doubt  every  man,  until  he  is  bound  by  this 
oath." 

*'  You  must  continue  to  doubt  me,  then,"  replied 
Reilly  ;  ''for,  most  assuredly,  I  will  not  take  it." 

"  You  must  take  it,  sir,"  said  the  other,  ''  or  you 
never  carry  your  life  out  of  the  cavern  which  covers 
you ;  "  and  his  eyes  once  more  blazed  again  as  lie 
uttered  the  words. 

''Gentlemen,"  said  Reilly,  "there  appear  to  be 
fifteen  or  sixteen  of  you  present ;  may  I  be  permitted  to 
ask  why  you  suffer  this  unhappy  man  to  be  at  large  V 

"Will  you  take  the  oath,  sir!"  persisted  the  unfor- 
tunate bishop,  in  a  voice  of  thunder;  "heretic  and 
devil,  will  you  take  the  oath  !" 

"  Unquestionably  not.  I  will  never  take  any  oath 
that  would  imply  want  of  honor  in  myself  Cease,  then, 
to  trouble  me  with  it,  sir.     I  shall  not  take  it." 

This  last  reply  afi'ected  the  bishop's  reason  so  deeply, 
that,  after  an  attempt  in    a  milder  spirit  to  present  a 


WILLY   REILLY.  191 

crucifix  to  Reilly  as  a  last  resource,  he  looked  about 
him  strangely,  and  exclaimed,  "  We  are  lost  and  be- 
trayed. But  here  are  angels — I  see  them,  and  will 
join  in  their  blessed  society  ;  "  and  as  he  spoke,  he  rushed 
towards  the  stalactites  in  a  manner  somewhat  wild 
and  violent,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  from  an  appre- 
hension of  his  receiving  injury  in  some  of  the  dark 
interstices  among  them,  they  found  it  necessary,  for  his 
own  sake,  to  grapple  with  him  for  a  few  moments. 

But  alas !  they  had  ver}^  little  indeed  to  grapple 
with.  The  man  was  but  a  shadow,  and  they  found  him 
in  their  hands  as  feeble  as  a  child.  He  made  no  re- 
sistance, but  suffered  himself  to  be  managed  precise- 
ly as  they  wished.  Two  of  the  persons  present  took 
charge  of  him,  one  sitting  on  each  side  of  him.  Reilly, 
who  looked  on  with  amazement  now  strongly  blended 
with  pity — for  the  malady  of  the  unhappy  ecclesiastic 
could  no  longer  be  mistaken — Reilly,  we  say,  was  ad- 
dressed by  an  intelligent-looking  individual  with  some 
portion  of  the  clerical  costume  ?bout  him. 

"  Alas  !  sir,"  said  he,  '^  it  was  not  too  much  learning 
but  too  much  persecution,  that  has  made  him  mad. 
That  and  the  ascetic  habits  of  his  life  have  clouded  or 
destroyed  a  great  intellect  and  a  good  lieart.  He  has 
eaten  only  one  sparing  meal  a  day,  during  the  last 
month ;  and  though  severe  and  self-denying  to  him- 
self, he  was,  until  the  last  week  or  so,  like  a  father,  and 
an  indulgent  one,  to  us  all." 

At  this  moment,  the  pale,  mild-looking  clergyman,  to 
whom  we  have  alluded,  went  over  to  where  the  bishop 
sat,  and  throwing  himself  upon  his  bosom,  burst  into 
tears.  The  sorrow,  indeed,  became  infectious,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  there  were  not  many  dry  eyes  around 
him.  Father  Maguire,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  pro- 
gressive change  that  had  taken  place  in  him  since  his 
last  visit  to  the  cave,  now  wept  like  a  child,  and  Reiily 
himself  experienced  something  that  amounted  to  re- 


192  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

morse,  when  he  reflected  on  the  irreverent  tone  of  voice 
in  which  he  had  repHed  to  him. 

The  paroxysm,  however,  appeared  to  have  passed 
away  ;  he  was  quite  feeble,  but  not  properly  collected, 
though  calm  and  quiet.      After  a  little  time  he  requested 

^  to  be  put  to  heel.  And  this  leads  us  to  the  description 
of  another  portion  of  the  cave,  to  which  we  have  not 
yet  referred.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  stalactite  apart- 
ment which  w^e  have  already  described,  there  was  a 
large  projection  of  rock,  which  nearly  divided  it  from 
the  other,  and  which  discharged  the  office  of  a  wall,  or 
partition,  between  the  two  apartments.  Here  there  was 
a  good  fire  kept,  but  only  during  the  hours  of  night,  in- 
asmuch as  the  smoke  which  issued  from  a  rent  or  cleft 
in  the  top  of  this  apartment  would  have  discovered  them 
by  day.  Through  this  slight  chasm,  which  was  strictly 
concealed,  they  received  provisions,  water,  and  fuel. 
In  fact,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  whole  cave  had  been  ex- 
pressly designed  for  the  purpose  to  which  it  was  then 
applied,  or,  at  least,  for  some  one  of  a  similai-  nature. 

On  entering  this,  Reilly  found  a  good  fire,  on  which 
was  placed  a  large  pot  with  a  mess  in  it,  •  which  emitted 
at  least  a  very  savory  odor.  Around  tlie  sides,  or 
walls,  of  this  rock,  were,  at  least,, a  score  of  heather 
shake-down  beds,  the  fragrance  of  Avhich  was  delicious. 
Pots,  pans,  and  other  sim^jle  culinary  articles  were 
there  with  a  tolerable  stock  of  provisions,  not  omitting 
a  good  sized  keg  of  mountain  dew  which  their  secluded 
position,  the  dampness  of  the  place,  and  their  absenco 

'  from  free  air,  rendered  very  necessary  and  gratifying. 
'^  Here  !  "  exclaimed  Father  Ma  gu  ire,  after  the  unhap- 
py prelate  had  been  assisted  to  tliis  recess,  ''  here,  now, 
put  his  lordship  to  bed ;  I  have  tossed  it  up  for  him  in 
great  style  !  I  assure  you,  my  dear  friends,  it's  a  shake- 
down fit  for  a  prince  ! — and  better  than  most  of  the 
thieves  deserve.  What  bed  of  down  ever  had  the  sweet 
fragrance  this  flowery  heather  sends  forth  ?     Here,  my 


WILLY    REILLY.  193 

lord — easy,  now — lay  him  down  gently,  just  as  a 
mother  would  a  sleeping  child — for,  indeed,  he  is  a 
child,"  he  wliispered,  "and  as  weak  as  a  child  ;  but  a 
sound  sleep  will  do  him  good,  and  he'll  be  a  new  man  in 
the  morning,  please  God." 

Upon  this  rough,  but  "wholesome  and  aromatic  couch, 
the  exhausted  prelate  was  placed,  where  he  liad  not 
been  many  minutes  until  he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep, 
a  fact  which  gratified  them  very  much,  for  they  assured 
Eeilly  and  the  priest,  that  he  had  slept  but  a  few  hours 
each  night,  during  the  last  week,  and  that  such  slumber 
as  he  did  get  was  feverish  and  unquiet. 

Our  good-humored  friend,  however,  was  now  cor- 
dially welcomed  by  these  unfortunate  ecclesiastics,  for 
such,  in  fact,  the  majority  of  them  were.  His  presence 
seemed  to  them  like  a  ray  of  light  from  the  sun.  His 
good  humor,  his  excellent  spirits,  which  nothing  could 
repress,  and  his  drollery  kept  them  alive,  and  nothing 
was  so  much  regretted  by  them  as  his  temporary  ab- 
sences from  time  to  time ;  for,  in  truth,  lie  was  their  mes- 
senger, their  steward,  and  their  newsman ;  in  fact,  the 
only  link  that  connected  them  with  external  life,  and 
the  ongoings  of  the  world  abroad.  The  bed  in  which 
the  bishop  now  slept  was  in  a  distant  corner  of  this  in- 
ner apartment,  or  dormitory,  as  it  might  be  termed, 
because  the  situation  was  higher  and  drier,  and  con- 
sequently more  healthy,  as  a  sleeping-place,  tlian  any 
other  which  the  rude  apartment  afforded.  The  fire  on 
which  the  large  pot  simmered  was,  at  least,  a  distance  of 
twenty-five  yards  from  his  bed,  so  that  they  could  in- 
dulge in  conversation  without  much  risk  of  disturbing 
him. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Reilly  and  his  friend 
Father  Maguire  felt  by  this  time  a  tolerably  strong 
relish  for  something  in  the  shape  of  sustenance- — a 
relish  which  was  exceedingly  sharpened  by  the  savory 
smell  sent  forth  throughout  the  apartment  by  the  con- 


194  WILLY    REILLY. 

ents  of  whatsoever  was  contained  in  the  immense 
pot. 

"  My  dear  brethren,"  said  the  priest,  "  let  us  con- 
sider this  cavern  as  a  rich  monastery  ;  such,  alas !  as 
existed  in  the  good  days  of  old,  when  the  larder  and 
refectory  were  a  credit  to  religion  and  a  relief  to  the 
destitute,  but  which,  alas  ! — and  alas  !  again — we    can 

only  lick  our  reverend  lips,  and  think  of  as  a in  the 

meantime,  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  If  I  possess 
judgmentor  penetration  in  re  cuUnaria lain  of  opinion," 
he  added  (stirring  up  the  contents  of  it),  '^  that  it  is  fit 
to  be  operated  on ;  so,  in  God's  name,  let  us  liave  at  it. 
Troth,  I  feel  a  small  streamlet  of  clear  water  trickling 
from  each  side  of  my  mouth,  betokening  a  large  vacuum 
in  my  abdominal  regions." 

In  a  few  minutes,  two  or  three  immense  pewter 
dishes  were  heaped  with  stew  made  up  of  mutton,  bacon, 
hung  beef,  onions,  and  potatoes,  forming,  indeed,  a 
most  delicious  mess  for  any  man,  much  less  the  miser- 
able men  who  were  making  it  disappear  "so  rapidly. 

''Troth,"  said  the  priest,  after  he  had  given  strong 
symptoms  of  relaxation  to  a  right  arm,  whose  frequent 
visits  to  his  mouth  resembled,  in  rapidity,  the  working  of 
a  pump-handle  more  than  anything  else  we  can  think 
of — "  troth,  then,  I  wish  liis  lordship  liad  an  honest 
pound  of  this  savory  commixture  in  his  epigastrium — 
it  w^ould  drive  tlie  wind  out  of  it  and  prevent  it  from 
rising  up  in  a  whirl  to  his  brain.  The  truth  is,  he's  kill- 
ing liimself  with  fasting  and  prayer,  two  things  that  ^ 
are  very  dangerous  when  carried  to  excess,  as  we  have 
a  melancholy  evidence  of  in  liis  lordship's  own  case.  As 
for  me,  I  look  upon  such  excesses  in  self  denial  as  a 
slow  suicide — a  crime  which,  while  there's  a  mouthful 
of  anything  at  all  to  be  had,  may  the  Lord  prevent  me 
from  ever  committing." 

Reilly,  the  very  picture  of  health,  after  maintaining 
a  pace  inferior  to  that  of  none,  altliough  there  were  de- 


\VILLV    REILLY.  195 

cidedly  some  handy  workmen  there,  now  was  forced 
to  pull  up  and  halt.  In  the  meantime,  some  slow  but 
steady  operations  went  on  with  a  perseverance  that  was 
highly  creditable  ;  and  it  was  now  that,  having  a  little 
agreeable  leisure  to  observe  and  look  about  liim,  he 
began  to  examine  the  extraordinary  costumes  of  the  in- 
congruous society  in  wdiich,  to  his  astonishment,  he 
found  himself  a  party.  We  must,  however,  first  ac- 
count for  the  oddness  and  incongruity  of  the  appar- 
ent characters  which  they  were  forced  to  assume. 

At  this  period  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  indeed 
frightfully  oppressed.  A  proclamation  had  recently 
been  issued  by  the  Government,  who  dreaded,  or  pre- 
tended to  dread,  an  insurrection — by  which  document 
convents  and  monasteries  were  suppressed — rewards 
offered  for  the  detection  and  apprehension  of  ecclesi- 
astics, and  for  the  punishment  of  such  humane  magis- 
trates as  were  reluctant  to  enforce  laws  so  unsparing 
and  oppressive.  Increased  rewards  were  also  offered 
to  spies  and  informers,  with  whom  the  country  un- 
fortunately abounded.  A  general  disarming  of  all 
Catholics  took  place ;  domiciliary  visits  were  made 
in  quest  of  bishops,  priest,  and  friars,  and  all  the 
chapels  in  the  country  were  shut  up.  Many  of  the 
clergy  flew  to  the  metropolis,  where  they  imagined 
they  might  be  more  safe,  and  a  vast  number  to 
caverns  and  mountains,  in  order  to  avoid  the  common 
danger,  and  especially  from  a  wholesome  terror  of  that 
class  of  men  called  priest-hunters.  The  Catholic 
peasantry,  having  discovered  their  clergy  in  these  wild 
retreats,  flocked  to  them  on  Sundays  and  festivals,  in 
order  to  join  in  private — not  public — worship,  and  to 
partake  of  the  rites  and  sacraments  of  their  Church. 

I:  uch  was  the  state  of  the  country  at  the  period  when 
the  unfortunate  men,  whom  we  are  about  to  describe, 
were  pent  up  in  this  newly-discovered  cavern. 

Now,  Reilly  himself  was  perfectly  acquainted  with 


196  WILLY    REILLY. 

all  tills,  and  knew  very  well  that  these  unhappy  men, 
having  been  frequently  compelled  to  put  on  the  first 
disguise  that  came  to  hand,  had  not  means,  nor  indeed 
disposition,  to  cliange  these  disguises,  unless  at  the  risk 
of  being  recognized,  taken  into  custody,  and  surren- 
dered to  the  mercy  of  the  law. 

When  their  savory  meal  was  concluded,  Father  Ma- 
guire,  who  never  forgot  any  duty  connected  with  his 
position — be  that  where  it  might — -now  went  over  to 
the  large  pot,  exclaiming  : — 

•'  It  would  be  too  bad,  my  friends,  to  forget  the  crea- 
tures here,  that  have  been  so  faithful  and  so  steady  to 
ns.  Poor  things,  I  could  see,  by  the  way  they  fixed 
their  longing  eyes  upon  us  while  we  were  doing  the 
handiwork  at  the  stew,  that  if  the  matter  liad  been  left 
to  themselves,  the  sorrow  spoonful  ever  went  into  our 
mouths,  but  they'd  have  practised  the  doctrine  of  tithe 
upon.  Come,  darlings — here  now  is  a  little  race  for 
you — every  one  of  you  seize  a  spoon,  keep  a  hospita- 
ble mouth,  a  souple  wrist,  and  sorra  take  the  hindmost. 
These  creatures,  Mr.  Reilly,  are  so  many  little  brands 
plucked  out  of  the  burning.  They  are  the  children  of 
parents  who  suffered  for  their  faith,  and  were  brought 
here  to  avoid  being  put  into  those  new  traps  for  young 
Catholics,  called  Charter  Schools,  into  wdiich  the  Gov- 
ernment wishes  to  hook  in  our  rising  generation,  under 
pretence  of  supporting  and  educating  them,  but  in 
point  of  fact  to  alienate  them  from  the  affection  of  their 
parents  and  relations,  and  to  train  them  up  in  the  State 
religion,  poor  things.  At  all  events,  tliey  are  very 
Jiandy  to  us  here,  for  they  slip  out  by  turns  and  bring 
us  almost  everything  we  want — and  sorra  soul  of  them 
ever  opened  his  lips  as  to  the  existence  of  tliis  speluncaP 

The  meal  of  the  poor  things  was  abundant,  but  they 
soon  gave  over,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  tumbled 
themselves  into  their  heather  beds  and  werd^soon  sunk 
in  their  innocent  slumbers. 


WILLY    REILLY.  197 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  that  we  have  eaten  a  better  meal 
than  we  could  expect  in  this  miserable  place,  thanks  to 
the  kindness  of  our  faithful  flocks,  what  do  you  think 
of  a  sup  of  what's  in  the  keg  f — Good  eating  deserves 
a  drop  of  mixture  after  it,  to  aid  in  carrying  on  the  pro- 
cess of  digestion.  Father  Hennessy,  what  are  you  atf 
he  exclaimed,  addressing  an  exceedingly  ill-looking 
man,  with  heavy  brows  and  a  sinister  aspect.  "  You 
forget,  sir,  that  the  management  of  the  keg  is  my  duty, 
whenever  I  am  here.  You  are  the  only  person  here 
who  violates  our  regulations  in  that  respect.  Walk 
back  and  wait  till  you  are  helped,  like  another.  Do  you 
call  that  being  spiritually  inclined  ?  If  so,  there  is  not 
a  doubt  of  it  but  you  ought  to  be  a  bishop  ;  and  if  you 
come  to  that  I'll  stake  my  credit  on  it  that  you'll  never 
let  much  wind  into  your  stomach  so  long  as  you 
can  get  plenty  of  the  solids  and  fluids  to  keep  it 
out." 

"  I'm  weak  in  the  stomach,"  replied  Hennessy,  with 
a  sensual  grin,  ^^  and  require  it." 

"  But  I  say,"  replied  Father  Maguire,  ^'  that  it  would 
require  stronger  proof  than  any  your  outward  man  pre- 
sents to  confirm  the  truth  of  that.  As  for  bearing  a 
load  either  of  the  liquids  or  solids  aforesaid,  I'll  back 
your  bit  of  abdomen  there  against  those  of  any  three  of 
us." 

Cups  and  noggins,  and  an  indescribable  variety  of 
small  vessels  that  were  never  designed  for  drinking, 
were  now  called  into  requisition,  and  a  modest  portion 
of  the  keg  was  distributed  among  them.  Reilly,  while 
enjoying  his  cup,  which  as  well  as  the  others  he  did 
with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction,  could  not  help  being 
amused  by  the  comical  peculiarity  of  their  disguises. 

The  sinister-looking  clergyman  whom  we  have 
named  Hennessy,  subsequently  became  a  spy  and  infor- 
mer; and,  we  may  add,  an  enemy  equally  formidable 
and  treacherous  to  the  Catholics  of  the  time,  in  conse- 


198  WILLY    REILLY. 

quence  of  having  been  deprived  of  his  clerical  functions 
by  his  bishop,  who  could  not  overlook  his  immoral  and 
irregular  conduct.  He  is  mentioned  by  Matthew 
O'Connor,  in  his  '^History  of  the  Irish  Catholics,"  and 
consigned  to  infamy  as  one  of  the  greatest  scourges, 
against  both  the  priesthood  and  the  people,  that  ever 
disgraced  the  country.  But,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
he  stands  out  in  dark  relief  ag-ainst  the  G^reat  bodv 
of  the  Catholic  priests  at  this  period,  whose  firmness, 
patience,  and  fidelity  to  their  trust  place  them  above  all 
praise  and  all  suspicion.  It  is,  however,  very  reason- 
able, that  men  so  hunted  and  persecuted  should  be 
forced,  not  only  in  defense  of  their  own  lives  and  liber- 
ties, but  also  for  the  sake  of  their  flocks,  to  assume  such 
costumes  as  might  most  effectually  disguise  them,  so 
that  they  would  be  able  still,  even  in  secret  and  by 
stealth,  to  administer  the  rites  of  their  religion  to  the 
poor  and  neglected  of  their  own  creed.  Some  were 
dressed  in  common  frieze,  some  in  servants'  cast-off  liv- 
eries— however  they  came  by  them — and  not  a  few  in 
military  uniform,  that  served,  as  it  were,  to  mark  them 
stanch  supporters  of  the  very  government  that  perse- 
cuted them.  A  reverend  archdeacon,  somewhat  come- 
ly and  corpulent,  had,  by  some  means  or  other,  pro- 
cured the  garb  of  a  recruiting  sergeant,  which  fitted 
him  so  admirably  that  the  illusion  was  complete  ;  and 
what  bore  it  out  still  more  forcibly  was  the  presence  of 
a  smart-looking  little  friar,  who  kept  the  sergeant  in 
countenance  in  the  uniform  of  a  drummer.  Mass  was 
celebrated  every  day,  hymns  sung  and  prayers  offered 
up  to  the  Almighty,  that  it  might  please  him  to  check 
the  flood  of  persecution  which  had  overwhelmed  or 
scattered  them.  Still,  in  the  intervals  of  devotion,  they 
indulofed  in  that  reasonable  cheerfulness  and  harmless 
mirth  which  was  necessary  to  support  their  spirits,  de- 
pressed as  they  must  have  been  by  this  dreadful  and 
melancholy  confinement — a  confinement  where  neither 


WILLY    REILLY.  199 

the  Hg-lit  of  the  blessed  sun,  nor  the  fresh  breezes  of 
heaven,  nor  the  air  we  breathe,  in  its  usual  purity 
could  reach  them.  Sir  Tliomas  Moore  and  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  however,  were  cheerful  on  the  scaffold  ;  and 
even  here,  as  we  have  already  said,  may  a  rustic  tale 
and  legend,  peculiar  to  those  times,  went  pleasantly 
around  ;  a  theological  debate  took  place,  and  many  a 
thesis  was  discussed  in  order  to  enable  the  unhappy 
men  to  pass  away  the  tedious  monotony  of  their  im- 
prisonment in  this  strange  lurking-place.  The  only 
man  who  kept  aloof  and  took  no  part  in  these  amus- 
ing recreations  was  Hennessy,  who  seemed  moody  and 
sullen,  but  who,  nevertheless,  was  frequently  detected 
in  making  stolen  visits  to  the  barrel. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  however,  the  sight  was  a  mel- 
ancholy one  ;  and  whatever  disposlj-ion  Reilly  felt  to 
smile  at  what  he  saw  and  heard  was  instantly  changed 
on  perceiving  their  unaffected  piety,  which  was  evident 
by  their  manner,  and  a  rude  altar  in  a  remote  end  of  the 
cave,  which  was  laid  out  night  and.  day  for  the  purpose 
of  celebrating  the  ceremonies  and  mysteries  of  their 
Church.  Before  he  went  to  his  couch  of  heather,  how- 
ever, he  called  Father  Maguire  aside,  and  thus  addressed 
him  :~ 

''  I  have  been  a  good  deal  struck,  to-night,  my  friend, 
by  all  that  I  have  witnessed  in  this  singular  retreat. 
The  poor  prelate  I  pity  ;  and  I  regret  I  did  not  under- 
stand him  sooner.     His  mind,  I  fear,  is  gone." 

"  Why,  I  didn't  understand  him  myself,"  replied  the 
priest;  '^  because  this  was  the  first  symptom  he  has 
shown  of  any  derangement  in  his  intellect ;  otherwise  I 
would  no  more  have  contradicted  him  than  I  would 
have  cut  my  left  hand  off." 

^'  There  is,  however,  a  man — a  clergyman  here, 
called  Hennessy ;  who  is  he,  and  what  has  been  his 
life!" 

''  Why,"  replied  the  other,  ''  I  have  heard  nothing  to 


200  WILLY    REILLY. 

his  disadvantage.  He  is  a  quiet,  and,  it  is  said,  a  pious 
man — and  I  think  he  is,  too.  He  is  naturally  silent, 
and  seldom  takes  any  part  in  our  conversation.  He 
says,  however,  that  his  concealment  here  bears  hard 
upon  him,  and  is  depressing  his  spirits  every  day  more 
and  more.  Tiie  only  thing  I  ever  could  observe  in  him 
is  what  you  saw  yourself  to-night — a  slight  relish  for  an 
acquaintance  with  the  barrel.  He  sometimes  drains  a 
drop — indeed  sometimes  too  much — out  of  it,  when  he 
gets  our  backs  turned  ;  but  then  he  pleads  low  spirits 
three  or  four  times  a  day — indeed,  so  often  that  upon 
my  troth,  he'll  soon  have  the  barrel  pleading  the  same 
complaint." 

''  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  after  listening  attentively  to 
him.,  ''  I  desire  you  and  your  friends  to  watch  that  man 
closely.  I  know  soniething  about  him  ;  and  I  tell  you 
that  if  ever  the  laws  become  more  lenient,  the  moment 
this  man  makes  his  appearance,  his  bishop  will  deprive 
him  of  all  spiritual  jurisdiction  for  life.  Mark  me  now, 
Fatlier  Maguire  ;  if  he  plead  any  necessity  for  leaving 
this  retreat  and  going  abroad  again  into  the  world,  don't 
let  a  single  individual  of  you  remain  here  one  hour  af- 
ter him.  Provide  for  y  oui*  safety  and  your  shelter  else- 
where as  well  as  you  can ;  if  not,  the  worst  conse- 
quences may,  nay,  will  follow." 

The  priest  promised  to  communicate  this  intelligence 
to  his  companions,  one  by  one ;  after  which,  both  he 
and  Reilly,  feeling  fatigued  and  exhausted  by  what  they 
liad  undergone  in  the  course  of  the  night,  threw  them- 
selves each  upon  his  couch  of  heather,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  not  only  they  but  all  their  companions  were 
sunk  in  sleep, 


WILLY    REILLY.  201 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  squire's  dinner  AND  HIS  GUESTS. 

We  now  return  to  Coleen  Baivn,  who,  after  her  sep- 
aration from  Reilly,  retired  to  her  own  room,  where  she 
indulged  in  a  paroxysm  of  deep  grief,  in  consequence 
of  her  apprehension  that  she  might  never  see  him 
again.  She  also  calculated  upon  the  certainty  of  be- 
ing obliged  to  sustain  a  domestic  warfare  with  her  father, 
as  the  result  of  liaving  made  him  the  confidant  of  her 
love.  In  this,  however,  she  was  agreeably  disappointed ; 
for  on  meeting  him  the  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  she 
was  a  good  deal  surprised  to  observe  that  he  made  no 
allusion  whatsoever  to  the  circumstance — if,  indeed,  an 
occasional  muttering  of  some  unintelligible  words,  sotto 
voce,  might  not  be  supposed  to  allude  to  it.  The  truth 
wns,  the  old  man  found  the  promise  he  had  made  to  §ir 
Roljert  one  of  such  difficulty  to  his  testy  and  violent 
disposition,  that  his  lang-uage,  and  the  restraint  which 
lie  felt  himself  under  the  necessity  of  putting  on  it,  ren- 
dered his  conversation  rather  ludicrous. 

"Well,  Helen,"  he  said,  on  entering  the  breakfast- 
parlor,  "  how  did  you  rest  last  night,  my  love  I  Rested 
sound — eh  f  But  you  look  rather  pale,  darling.  (D — n 
the  rascal !  )'' 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  slept  as  well  as  usual,  sir  ;  I  felt 
headache." 

"Ay,  headache — was  it!  (Heartache,  rather.  The 
villain.)  Well,  come,  let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a 
mouthful  of^that  toast." 

"Will  you  not  have  some  chicken,  sir?" 

^'  No,  my  dear — no  ;  just  what  I  said — a  mouthful  of 
toast,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  plenty  of  cream  in  it.  Thank 
you,  love.     (A  good  swing  for  him  will  be  delightful. 


202  WILLY   EEILLY. 

I'll  go  to  see  It.)  Helen,  my  def.ir,  I'm  (fomg  to  give 
a  dinner-party  next  week.  Of  course  w(^'ll  have  your 
future — hem — I  mean  we'll  have  Sir  Robert,  and — let 
me  see — who  else  ?  Why,  Oxley,  the  sheriff,  Mr. 
Brown  the  parson — I  wish  he  didn't  lean  so  much  to  the 
d — d  Papists,  though, — Mr.  Hastings,  who  is  tarred 
with  the  same  stick,  it  is  whispered.  Weil,  who  next  I 
Lord  Deilmacare,  a  good-natured  jackass— a  fellow  who 
would  eat  a  jacket  full  of  carrion,  if  placed  before 
him,  with  as  much  gout  as  if  it  were  venison.  He  went 
home  one  night,  out  of  this,  with  the  parson's  outside 
coat  and  shovel  hat  upon  him,  and  did  not  return  them 
for  two  days." 

''  Does  this  habit  proceed  from  stupidity,  papa!" 
^'Not  at  all;  but  from  mere  carelessness.  The  next 
two  days  he  was  out  with  his  laborers,  apd  if  a  cow  or 
a  pig  chanced — (d — n  the  fellow ;  we'll  h;ing  him,  to  a 
certainty) — chanced,  I  say,  to  stray  into  the  field,  he 
would  shy  the  shovel  hat  at  them,  without  remorse.  0, 
we  must  have  him,  by  all  means :  but  who  next  ?  Sir  Jen- 
kins Joram:  give  him  plenty  to  drink,  and  he  is  satisfied." 
''  But  what  are  Ms  political  principles,  papa  f 
''They  are  to  be  found  in  the  bottle,  Helen,  which 
is  the  only  creed,  political  or  religious,  to  which  I  ever 
knew  him  to  be  attached  ;  and  I  tell  you  girl,  tliat  if 
every  Protestant  in  Ireland  were  as  deeply  devoted  to 
bis  Church  as  he  is  to  the  bottle,  we  won  Id  soon  be  a 
happy  people,  uncorrupted  by  treacherous  scoundrels, 
who  privately  harbor  Papists,  and  foster  ]popery  itself. 
(The  d— d  scoundrel.)" 

"  But,  papa,"  replied  his  daughter,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  ''I  think  I  know  some  persons  who,  although 
very  loud  and  vehement  in  their  outcry  against  Pop- 
ery, have,  nevertheless,  on  more  than  one  or  two  oc- 
casions, harbored  Papists  in  their  house,  aad  conce^iled 
even  priests,  when  the  minions  of  the  law  were  in 
search  of  them." 


WILLY    REILLY.  203 

•'  Yes,  and  it  is  of  this  d — d  crew  of  hollow  Protest- 
ants that  I  now  speak — ahem — ay — ha — well,  what 
tlie  devil ! — hem.  To  be  sure  I — I — I — but  it  doesn't 
signify ;  we  can't  be  wise  at  all  times.  But  after  all, 
Helen  (d — n  me,  she  has  me  there),  after  all,  I  say, 
there  are  some  good  Papists,  and  some  good — ahem — 
])riest£,  too.  There,  now,  Tve  got  it  out.  However, 
Helen,  those  foolisli  dsijs  arfe  gone,  and  we  have 
nothing  for  it  now  but  to  hunt  Popery  out  of  the 
country.     But  to  proceed  as  to  the  dinner." 

^^  I  think  Popery  is  suffering  enough,  sir,  and  more 
than  enough." 

''  Ho,  ho  !"  he  exclaimed  with  triumph,  ^'here  comes 
the  next  on  my  list, — a  fine  fellow  who  will  touch  it  up 
still  more  vigorously — -I  mean  Captain  Smellpriest." 

*^  I  have  heard  of  that  inhuman  man,"  replied  Helen  ; 
^*  I  wish  you  would  not  ask  him,  papa.  I  am  told 
he  equals  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  in  both  cowardice  and 
cruelty.  Is  not  that  a  nickname  he  has  got  in  conse- 
quence of  his  activity  in  pursuit  of  the  unfortunate 
priests  f 

''It's  a  nickname  he  has  given  himself,"  replied  her 
father :  ''  and  he  has  become  so  proud  of  it  that  he  will 
allow  himself  to  be  called  by  no  other.  He  swears  that 
if  a  priest  gets  on  the  windy  side  of  him,  he  will  scent 
him  as  a  hound  would  a  fox.  O  by  my  honor,  Smell- 
priest  must  be  here.  The  scoundrel,  like  Whitecraft ! 
— eh — what  the  devil  am  I  saying  ?  Smellpriest,  I  say, 
first  began  his  career  as  a  friend  to  the  Papists  ;  he  took 
large  tracts  of  land  in  their  name,  and  even  purchased 
a  couple  of  estates  with  their  money ;  and  in  due  time, 
according  as  the  tide  continued  to  get  strong  against 
them,  he  thought  the  best  plan  to  cover  his  villany — 
ahem — his  policy,  I  mean — was  to  come  out  as  a  fierce 
loyalist ;  and  as  a  mark  of  his  repentance,  he  claimed 
the  property,  as  the  real  purchaser,  and  arrested  those 
who  were  fools  enougli  to  trust  him." 


204  WILLY    REILLY. 

*'  I  think  I  know  another  gentleman  of  my  acquaint- 
ance who  holds  property  in  some  similar  trust  for  Pap- 
ists," observed  Helen,  "  but  who  certainly  is  incapable 
of  imitating  the  villany  of  that  most  unprincipled  man." 

*'  Come,  come,  Helen  ;  come,  my  girl — d — n  it — tut 
—ahem  ;  come,  you  are  getting  into  politics  now,  and 
that  will  never  do.  A  girl  like  you  ought  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  politics  or  religion." 

''Religion !  papa." 

''  O — hem — I  don't  mean  exactly  that.  0  no  ;  I  ex- 
cept religion  ;  a  girl  may  be  as  religious  as  she  pleases, 
only  she  must  say  as  little  upon  the  subject  as  possible. 
Come,  another  cup  of  tea,  with  ^  little  more  sugar,  for  I 
give  you  my  honor,  you  did  not  make  the  last  one  of 
the  sweetest ;"  and  so  saying,  he  put  over  his  cup  with 
a  grimace,  which  resembled  that  of  a  man  detected  in  a 
bad  action,  instead  of  a  good  one. 

At  this  moment,  John  the  butler  came  in  with  a  plate 
of  hot  toast ;  and,  as  he  was  a  privileged  old  man,  he 
addressed  his  master  without  much  hesitation. 

''That  was  a  quare  business,"  he  observed,  using  the 
word  quare  as  an  equivocal  one,  until  he  should  see 
what  views  of  the  circumstance  his  master  might  take  ; 
"  a  quare  business,  sir,  that  happened  to  Mr.    Reilly. " 

"What  business  do  you  allude  to,  you    old  sinner!" 

"The  burning  of  his  house  and  place,  sir.  All  he 
has,  or  had,  is  in  a  heap  of  ashes." 

Helen  felt  not  for  the  burning,  but  her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  features  of  the  old  man,  as  if  the  doom 
of  her  life  depended  on  his  words  ;  whilst  the  paper  on 
which  we  write  is  not  whiter  than  were  her  cheeks. 

"What — what — how  was  it?"  asked  his  master; 
"  who  did  it  ?  and  by  whose  authority  was  it  done  ?" 

"  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  and  his  men  did  it,  sir." 

"  Ay,  but  I  can't  conceive  he  had  any  authority  for 
such  an  act." 

"  Wasn't  Mr.  Reilly  an  outlaw,  sir  I     Didn't  the  Red 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  205 

Rapparee,  who  is  now  a  good  Protestant,  swear  insur- 
rection against  him  ?  " 

^*  The  red  devil,  sirrah,''  rephed  the  okl  squire,  for- 
getting his  animosity  to  Reilly  in  the  atrocity  iind  op- 
pression of  the  deed — ''  the  red  devil,  sirrah  !  would  that 
justify  such  a  cowardly  scoundrel  as — eh  ? — ugh— ugh 
— ugh — that  went  against  my  breath,  Helen.  Well, 
come  here,  I  say,  you  old  sinner;  they  burned  the 
place,  you  say." 

"  Sir  Robert  and  his  men  did,  sir." 

"I'm  not  doubting  that,  you  old  houseleek.  I 
know  Sir  Robert  too  well — I  know  the  d — d — ahem  ; 
a  most  excellent,  loyal  gentleman,  with  two  or  three 
fine  estates,  both  here  and  in  England;  but  he  prefers 
living  here,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  and  me, 
and — and  to  somebody  else.  Well,  they  burned  Reilly 
out — but  tell  me  this  ;  did  they  catch  the  rascal  himself? 
eh  ?  here's  five  pounds  for  you,  if  you  can  say  they 
have  him  safe." 

"  That's  rather  a  loose  bargain,  your  honor,"  replied 
the  man,  with  a  smile ;  ''  for  saying  it  ?  why,  what's 
to  prevent  me  from  saying  it,  if  I  wished  I" 

**  None  of  your  mumping,  you  old  snapdragon  ;  but 
tell  me  the  truth,  have  they  secured  him  hard  and 
fast?" 

'^No,  sir,  he  escaped  them,  and  as  the  report  goes, 
they  know  nothing  about  him,  except  that  they  haven't 
got  him." 

Deep  and  speechless  was  the  agony  in  which  Helen 
sat  during  this  short  dialogue,  her  eyes  having  never 
once  been  withdrawn  from  the  butler's  countenance ; 
but  now  that  she  had  heard  of  her  lover's  personal  safe- 
ty, a  thick,  smothered  sob,  which,  if  it  were  to  kill  her, 
she  could  not  repress,  burst  from  her  bosom.  Unwil- 
ling that  either  her  father  or  the  servant  should  witness 
the  ecstasy  which  she  could  not  conceal,  and  feeling 
that  another  minute  would  disclose  the  delight  which 


206  WTLLY    REILLY.  •       - 

convulsed  her  heart  and  frame,  she  arose,  and  with  as 
much  composure  as  she  could  assume  went  slowly  out 
of  the  room.  On  entering  her  apartment,  she  signed  to 
her  maid  to  withdraw,  af^er  which  she  closed  and  bolted 
the  door,  and  wept  bitterly.  The  poor  girl's  euiotion, 
in  fact,  was  of  a  twofold  character;  she  wept  with  joy 
at  Reilly's  escape  from  the  hands  of  his  cruel  and  re- 
lentless enemy,  and  with  bitter  grief  at  the  impossi- 
bility which,  she  thought,  there  existed,  that  he  should 
ultimately  be  able  to  keep  out  of  the  meshes  which  she 
knew  Whitecraft  would  spread  for  him.  The  tears, 
however,  which  she  shed  abundantly,  in  due  time  re- 
lieved her,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two  she  was 
able  to  appear  as  usual  in  the  family. 

The  reader  may  perceive  that  her  father,  though  of  an 
abrupt  and  cynical  temper,  was  not  a  man  naturally  of  a 
bad  or  unfeeling  heart.  Whatever  mood  of  temper 
chanced  to  be  uppermost  influenced  him  for  the  time  ; 
and  indeed  it  might  be  said  tliat  one-half  of  his  feelings 
were  usually  in  a  state  of  conflict  with  the  other.  In 
matters  of  business  he  was  the  very  soul  of  integrity  and 
honor,  but  in  his  views  of  public  affairs  he  was  uncer- 
tain and  inconstant ;  and  of  course  his  whole  life  as  a 
magistrate  and  a  public  man  was  a  perpetual  series  of 
contradictions.  The  consequence  of  all  this  was  that  he 
possessed  but  small  influence,  as  arising  from  his  per- 
sonal character  ;  but  not  so  from  his  immense  property, 
as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  he  was  father  to  the 
wealthiest  and  most  beautiful  heiress  in  the  province, 
or  perhaps,  so  far  as  beauty  was  concerned,  in  the  king- 
dom itself. 

At  length  the  day  mentioned  for  the  dinner  arrived, 
and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  so  also  did  the  guests. 
There  were  some  hi  dies  asked  to  keep  Helen  in  coun- 
tenance, but  we  need  scarcely  say,  that  as  the  list  of 
them  was  made  out  by  her  tlioughtless  father,  he  paid, 
in  ihe  selection  of  some  of  them,    very  little  attentioD 


WILLV    KHILI.V.  201 

to  her  feelings.  Tliere  was  the  sheriff,  Mr.  Oxley,  and 
his  lady — the  latter  a  compound  in  whom  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  deteimine  whether  pride,  vidgarity,  or  obesity 
prevailed.  V/liere  the  sheriff  had  made  his  capture  of 
her  was  neve^r  properly  known,  as  neither  of  them  be- 
longed originally  to  that  neighborhood,  in  which^  he 
had,  several  years  ago,  purchased  large  property.  *  It 
was  said  he  had  got  her  in  London ;  and  nothing  was 
more  certain,,  than  that  she  issued  forth  the  English 
language  clothed  in  an  inveterate  London  accent.  She 
was  a  high  moralist  and  a  merciless  castigator  of  all  fe- 
males who  manifested,  or  who  were  supposed  to  mani- 
fest, even  a  tendency  to  walk  out  of  the  line  of  her  own 
peculiar  theory  on  female  conduct.  Her  weight  might 
be  about  eighteen  stone,  exclusive  of  an  additional  stone 
of  gold  chainii  and  bracelets,  in  which  she  moved  like 
a  walking  gibbet,  only  with  the  felon  in  it ;  and  to 
crown  all,  sht?  wore  upon  her  mountainous  bosom  a 
cameo  near  the  size  of  a  frying-pan.  Sir  Jenkins  Jor- 
am,  who  took  her  down  to  dinner,  declared,  on  feeling 
the  size  of  the  bracelets  which  encircled  her  wrists,  that 
belabored  for  a  short  time  under  the  impression  that  he 
and  she  were  literally  handcuffed  together ;  an  impres- 
sion, he  added,  from  which  he  was  soon  relieved  by 
the  consoling  reflection  that  it  was  the  sheriff  wliom 
the  clergyman  had  sentenced  to  stand  in  that  pleasant 
predicament.  Of  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings  we 
have  only  to  say  that  they  were  modest,  sensible,  un- 
assuming women,  without  either  parade  or  pretence, 
such,  in  fact,  as  you  will  generally  meet  among  our 
well-bred  and  educated  countrywomen.  Lord  Deil- 
macare  was  a  widower,  without  family,  and  not  a 
marrying  man.  Indeed,  when  pressed  upon  this  subject, 
he  was  never  known  to  deviate  from  the  one  reply. 

*' Why  dont  you  marry  again,  my  lord?  Will  you 
ever  marry  ?" 

"No,  madam,  1  g(>t  enough  of  it;"  a  reply  which,      j 


208  WILLY    REILLY. 

somehow,  generally  checked  any  further  inqiury  on  the 
subject.  Between  Lady  Joram  and  Mrs.  Smellpriest 
there  subsisted  a  singular  analogy  with  respect  to  their 
conjugal  attachments.  It  was  hinted  that  her  lady- 
ship, in  those  secret  but  delicious  moments  of  matrimo- 
nial felicity  which  make  up  the  sugar  candy  morsels  of 
domestic  hfe,  used  to  sit  with  Sir  Jenkins  for  the  pur- 
pose, by  judicious  exercise,  of  easing  a  rheumatic  af- 
fection which  she  complained  of  in  her  right  arm. 
There  is  nothing,  however,  so  delightful  as  a  general 
and  loving  sympathy  between  husband  and  wife  ;  here 
it  was  said  to  exist  in  perfection.  Mrs.  Smellpriest,  on 
the  other  hand,  w^as  said  to  have  been  equally  attached 
to  the  political  principles  of  the  noble  captain ;  and  to 
wonder  why  any  clergyman  should  be  suffered  to  live 
in  the  country  but  those  of  her  own  Church  ;  such  de- 
lightful men,  for  instance,  as  their  curate,  the  Rev. 
Samson  Strong,  who  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
divine  bonfire  in  the  eyes  of  the  Christian  world.  Such 
was  his  zeal  against  Papists,  she  said,  as  well  as  against 
Poper}"  at  large,  that  she  never  looked  on  him  without 
thinking  that  there  was  a  priest  to  be  burned.  Indeed, 
Captain  Smellpriest,  she  added,  was  under  great  obliga- 
tions to  him,  for  no  sooner  had  his  Reverence  heard  of 
a  priest  taking  earth  in  the  neighborhood,  than  he  lost 
no  time  in  communicating  the  fact  to  her  husband  ;  after 
which  he  would  kindly  sit  w^ith  and  comfort  her,  whilst 
fretting  lest  any  mischief  might  befall  her  dear  captain. 
The  dinner  passed  as  all  dinners  usually  do.  They 
hobnobbed,  of  course,  and  indulged  in  that  kind  of  pro- 
miscuous conversation  which  cannot  well  be  reported. 
From  a  feeling  of  respect  to  Helen,  no  allusion  was 
made  either  to  the  burning  of  Reilly's  property  or  to 
Reilly  personally.  The  only  person  who  had  any  diflS- 
culty  in  avoiding  the  subject  was  the  old  squire  him- 
self, who  more  than  once  found  the  topic  upon  liis  lips, 
but  with  a  kind  of  short  cough  he  gulped  it  down,  and 


WILLY    KEILLY.  209 

2fot  rid  of  it  for  the  time.  In  what  manner  lie  mia-ht 
treat  the  act  itself  was  a  matter  which  excited  a  good 
deal  of  speculation  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were 
present.  He  was  known  to  be  a  man  who,  if  the  whim 
seized  him  to  look  upon  it  as  a  cowardly  and  vindictive 
pi'oceeding,  would  by  no  means  scruple  to  express  his 
opinions  strongly  against  it ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand, 
if  he  measured  it  in  connection  with  his  daughter's  for- 
bidden attachment  to  Reilly,  he  would,  of  course,  as  ve- 
hemently express  his  approbation  of  the  outrage.  In- 
deed they  were  induced  to  conclude  that  this  latter  view 
of  it  was  that  which  he  was  most  likely  to  take,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  following  proposal,  which,  from  any 
other  man,  would  have  been  an  extraordinary  one. 

''Come,  ladies,  before  you  leave  us  we  must  have 
one  toast ;  and  I  shall  give  it  in  order  to  ascertain 
whether  we  have  any  fair  traitressess  among  us,  any  who 
are  secretly  attached  to  Popery  or  Papists." 

The  proposal  was  a  cruel  one,  but  the  squire  Avas  so 
utterly  destitute  of  consideration  or  delicacy  of  feeling 
that  we  do  not  think  he  ever  once  reflected  upon  the 
painful  position  in  which  he  placed   his  daughter. 

''  Come,"  he  proceeded,  ''  here  is  prosperity  to  Captain 
Smellpriest  and  priest-hunting  ! " 

"  As  a  Christian  minister,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  ''  and 
an  enemy  to  persecution  in  every  sense — but  especially 
to  that  which  would  punish  any  man  for  the  great  prin- 
ciple which  we  ourselves  claim — the  rights  of  con- 
science— I  decline  to  drink  the  toast,"  and  he  turned 
down  his  glass. 

'*  And  I,"  said  Mr.  Hastings,  ''  as  a  Protestant  and 
Christian,  refuse  it  on  the  same  principles,"  and  he  al- 
so turned  down  his  glass. 

"  But  3'ou  forget,  gentlemen,"  proceeded  the  squire, 
''that  I  addressed  myself  principally  to  the  ladies." 

,"  But  you  know,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown,  with  a 
smile,  "  that  it  is  quite  unusual  and  out  of  character  for 


2 JO  WILLY    REILLY. 

ladies  to  drink  toasts  at  all,  especially  those  which  in- 
volve religious  and  political  opinions.  These,  I  am  sure^ 
you  know  to  well,  Mr.  FoUiard,  are  matters  with  which 
ladies  have,  and  ought  to  have,  nothing  to  do.  I  also, 
therefore,  on  behalf  of  our  sex,  decline  to  drink  tlie 
toast ;  and  I  trust  that  every  lady  who  respects  herself 
will  turn  down  her  glass,  as  I  do.  " 

Mrs.  Hastinor-s  and  Helen  immediatelv  followed  her 
example,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  poor  Helen's  cheeks 
and  neck  were  scarlet. 

^^  You  see,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  good-humoredly, 
'*  that  the  sex — at  least  one-half  of  them — are  against 
you." 

'^That's  because  they're  Papists  at  heart,"  replied 
the  squire,   laughing. 

Helen  felt  eased  at  seeing  her  father's  good  humor, 
for  she  now  knew  that  the  proposal  of  the  toast  was  but 
a  jest,  and  did  not  aim  at  anything  calculated  to  distress 
her   feelings. 

"  But  in  the  meantime,"  proceeded  the  squire,  "I 
am  not  without  support.  Here  is  Lady  Joram,  and 
Mrs.  Smellpriest,  and  Mrs.  Oxley — and  they  are  a 
host  in  themselves — each  of  them  willing  and  ready  to 
•support  me  " 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Lady  Joram,  ''  why  a  lady,  any 
more  than  a  gentlemim,  should  refuse  to  drink  a  prop- 
er toast,  as  this  is;  Sir  Jenkins  has  not  turned  down 
his  glass,  and  neither  shall  I.  Come,  then,  Mr.  Folliard, 
please  to  fill  mine  ;   I  shall  drink  it  in   a  bumper." 

"  And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Oxley,  *'  always  drinks  my  'us- 
band's  principles.  In  Lunnon,  where  true  'igli  life  is, 
ladies  don't  refuse  to  drink  toasts.  I  know  that  feyther, 
both  before  and  after  his  removal  to  Lunnon,  used  to 
make  us  all  drink  tlie  '  Ardware  of  Old  Hingland/ — by 
which,"  slie  proceeded,  correcting  herself  by  a  reprov- 
inof  oflance  from  the  sheriff — ''  bv  which  he  meant  what 
he  called  the  glorious  sinews  of  the  country  at  large, 


WILLY    REILLY.  211 

leastwise  in  the  manufacturing'  districts.  But  upon  a 
subject  like  this," — and  she  looked  with  something  like 
disdain  at  those  who  had  turned  down  tlieir  glasses — 
"  every  lady  as  is  a  lady  ought  to  'ave  no  objection  to 
explain  her  principles  by  drinking  the  toast;  but  p'raps 
it  ain't  fair  to  press  it  upon  some  of  'em." 

"  AVell,  then,"  proceeded  the  squire,  with  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  have  more  than  mirth  in  it,  "  are  all  the  loy- 
al subjects  of  the  crown  ready?  Lord  Deilmacare,  your 
glass  is  not  filled ;  won't  you  drink  it  ?  " 

''To  be  sure,"  replied  his  lordship ;  "I  have  no 
hatred  against  Papists;  I  get  my  rent  by  their  labor  ; 
but  I  never  wish  to  spoil  sport — get  along — I'll  do 
anything." 

\Vith  the  exceptions  already  mentioned,  the  toast  was 
drank  immediately,  after  which  the  ladies  retired  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  squire,  "  fill  your  glasses, 
and  let  us  enjoy  ourselves.  You  have  a  right  to  be 
proud  of  your  wife,  Mr.  Sherift',  and  you,  too.  Sir  Jen- 
kins ;  for  upon  my  soul,  if  it  had  been  his  Mj^ijesty's 
health,  her  ladyship  couldn't  have  honored  it  with  a 
fuller  bumper.  And,  Smellpriest,  your  wife  did  the 
thing  handsomel}^,  as  well  as  the  rest.  Upon  my  soul, 
you  ought  to  be  happy  men,  with  three  women  so  deep- 
ly imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  our  glorious  constitu- 
tion." 

"Ah,  Mr  Folliard, "  said  Smellpriest,  "  you  don't 
know  the  value  of  that  woman.  When  I  return,  for 
instance,  after  a  hunt,  the  first  question  she  puts  to  me 
is — Well,  my  love,how  many  priests  did  you  catch  to- 
day ?  And  out  comes  Mr.  Strong  with  the  same  question. 
Strong,  however,  between  ourselves,  is  a  goose;  he  will 
believe  anything  ;  and  often  sends  me  upon  a  cold  ti-ail. 
Now  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  gentlemen,  that  this  man, 
who  is  nil  zeal,  has  sent  me  out  dozens  of  times,  with 
the  strictest  instructions  as  to  where  I'd  catch  my  priest ; 


212  WILLY    REILLY. 

but  d — n  me  if  ever  I  caught  a  single  priest  upon  his  in- 
structions yet;  still,  although  unfortunate  in  this  kind  of 
sport,  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place.  Whitecraft,  my 
worthy  brother  sportsman,  how  does  it  happen  that 
Reilly  continues  to  escape  you  ?  " 

"Why  does  he  continue  to  escape  yourself,  cap- 
tain ! "  replied  the  baronet. 

"Why,"  said  the  other,  "because  I  am  more  in  the 
ecclesiastical  line,  and  besides,  he  is  considered  to  be, 
in  an  especial  manner,  your  game." 

^'I  will  have  him  yet,  though,"  said  Whitecraft,  "if 
he  should  assume  as  many  shapes  as  Proteus." 

"By  the  way,  Whitecraft,"  observed  Folliard,  "they 
tell  me  you  burned  the  unfor — you  burned  the  scoun- 
drel's house  and  offices." 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  present  at  the  bonfire,  sir," 
replied  his  intended  son-in-law  ;  "it  would  have  done 
your  heart  good." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  but  still  what  harm 
did  his  house  and  place  do  you  !  I  know  the  fellow  is 
a  Jesuit,  a  rebel  and  an  outlaw — at  least  you  tell  me 
so :  and  you  must  know.  But  upon  what  authority 
did  you  l3urn  the  rascal  out  f  " 

"  As  to  that,"  returned  the  baronet,  "  the  present  laws 
against  Popery  and  the  general  condition  of  the  times  are 
a  sufficient  justification;  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  like- 
ly to  be  brought  over  the  coals  for  it ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
lookupon  myself  as  a  man  who,  in  burning  the  villain  out, 
has  rendered  a  very  important  service  to  Government." 

"  I  regret,  Sir  Pobert,"  observed  Mr.  Brown,  "  that 
you  should  have  disgraced  yourself  by  such  an  oppres- 
sive act.  I  know  that  throuo-hout  the  country  vour 
conduct  to  this  young  -man  is  attributed  to  personal 
malice  rather  than  to  loyalty." 

"The  country  may  put  what  construction  on  my 
conduct  it  pleases,"  he  re})lied,  "  but  I  know  I  shall 
never  cease  till  I  hang  him." 


WILLY    KEILLY.  21  o 

Mr.  Hastings  was  a  man  of  very  few  words  ;  but  lie 
had  an  eye  the  expression  of  which  could  not  be  mis- 
taken— keen,  manly,  and  firm.  He  sat  sipping  his  wine 
in  silence,  but  turned,  from  time  to  time,  a  glance  upon 
the  baronet,  which  was  not  only  a  searcliing  one,  but 
seemed  to  have  something  of  triumph  in  it. 

''What  do  yoa  say,  Hastings!"  asked  Whitecraft ; 
''  can  you  not  praise  a  loyal  subject,  man  !" 

'*I  say  nothing,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied,  ''but  1 
think  occasionally." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  think  occasionally  I" 

"Why,  that  the  times  may  be  changed." 

"  Whitecraft,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  I  work  upon  higher 
principles  than  they  say  you  do.  I  hunt  priests,  no 
doubt  of  it ;  but  then  1  have  no  personal  malice  against 
them  :  I  proceed  upon  the  broad  and.  general  principle 
of  hatred  to  Popery ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  observe,  it 
is  not  the  man,  but  the  priest  I  pursue." 

"  And  when  you  hang  or  transport  the  priest,  what 
becomes  of  the  man?"  asked  the  baronet,  with  a  diabol- 
ical sneer.  "As  forme,  Smellpriest,  I  make  no  sncli 
distinctions  ;  they  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  you  express  them.     I  say  the  man." 

"  And  I  say  the  priest,"  replied  the  other. 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  lord  ?"  asked  Mr.  Folliard  of 
the  peer. 

"I  don't  much  care  which,"  replied  his  lordsliip  ; 
"  man  or  priest,  be  it  as  you  can  determine  ;  onl}^  I  say 
that  when  you  hang  the  priest,  I  agree  with  Whitecraft 
there,  that  it  is  all  up  with  the  man,  and  when  you  hang 
the  man  it  is  all  up  with  the  priest.  By  the  way, 
Whitecraft,"  he  proceeded,  "  how  w^ould  you  like  to 
swing  yourself!" 

"  I  am  sure,  my  lord,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  you 
wouldn't  wish  to  see  me  hanged." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — perhaps  I  might,  and  perhaps 
I  might   not ;  but   I  know   you   would   make  a  long 


214  Wli.LV    IJKIJ.LV. 


coi'pse,  and  I  think  you  would  dangle  handsomely 
yiiough  ;  you  have  long  limbs,  a  long  body,  and  half  a 
mile  of  neck  ;  upon  my  soul,  one  would  think  you  were 
made  for  it.  Yes,  I  dare  say,  I  should  like  to  see  you 
hanged — I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  I  would — it's  a 
subject,  however,  on  which  I  am  perfectly  indifferent ; 
but  if  ever  you  should  be  hanged.  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly make  it  a  point  to  see  you  thrown  off,  if  it  were 
only  as  a  mark  of  respect  to  your  humane  and  ex- 
cellent character." 

''  He  would  be  a  severe  loss  to  the  country,"  observed 
Sir  Jenkins:  ^'the  want  of  his  hospitality  would  be 
deeply  felt  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood;  for 
which  reason,"  he  observed,  sarcastically,  ^'  I  hope  he 
will  be  spared  to  us  as  long  as  his  hospitality  lasts." 

"In  the  meantime,  gentlemen,"  observed  the  sheriff, 
"I  wish  that  with  such  keen  noses  for  priests,  and  rebels, 
and  criminals,  you  could  come  upon  the  trail  of  the 
scoundrel  who  robbed  me  of  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds." 

"  Would  you  know  him  again,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?"  asked 
Sir  Robert,  "and  could  3^ou  describe  his  appearance?" 

"  I  have  been  turning  the  matter  over,"  replied  the 
sheriff,  "  and  I  feel  satisfied  that  I  would  know  him  if 
I  saw  him.  He  was  dressed  in  a  broadcloth,  brown  coat, 
lighted-colored  breeches,  and  had  silver  buckles  in  his 
shoes.  The  fellow  was  no  common  robber.  Stuart — 
one  of  your  dragoons,  Sir  Robert,  who  came  to  my  re- 
lief when  it  was  too  lai:e — insists,  from  my  description 
of  the  dress,  that  it  was  Reilly." 

"Are  you  sure  he  was  not  dressed  in  black!"  asked 
Smellpriest.  "Did  you  observe  any  beads  or  crucifix 
about  him  ?" 

"  I  have  described  the  dress  accurately,"  replied  the 
siieriff;  "but  I  am  certain  that  it  was  not  Reilly.  On 
brino^inofthe  matter  to  mv  recollection,  after  I  had  got 
rid  of  the  pain  and  agitation,  I  was  able  to   remember 


\  WILl.V    RKILLY.  215 

iliat  the  ruffian  had  a  coarse  face  and  red  wliiskers. 
Now  Reilly's  hair  and  whiskers  are  black." 

''  It  was  a  reverend  Papist,"  said  Sinellpriest ;  '^  one 
of  those  from  whom  you  had  levied  the  fines  tluit  da}^, 
and  who  thought  it  no  harm  to  transfer  them  back  again 
to  holy  Church.  You  know  not  how  those  rascals  can 
disguise  themselves." 

"Andean  you  blame  them,  Smellpriest,"  said  the 
squire,  ''  for  disguising  themselves  '?  Now,  suppose  the 
tables  were  turned  upon  us,  that  Popery  got  into  the 
ascendant,  and  that  Papists  started  upon  the  same  prin- 
ciples against  us,  that  we  put  in  practice  against  them  ; 
suppose  that  Popish  soldiers  were  halloed  on  against  our 
parsons,  and  all  other  Protestants  conspicuous,  for  an  at- 
tachment to  their  religion,  and  anxious  to  put  down  the 
persecution  under  which  we  suffered  ;  why  d — n  it, 
could  you  blame  the  parsons,  when  hunted  to  the  death, 
for  disguising  themselves  ?  And  if  you  could  not,  how 
the  devil  can  you  blame  the  priests  1  Would  3^ou  have 
the  poor  devils  walk  into  your  hands,  and  say — '  Come, 
gentlemen,  be  good  enough  to  hang  or  transport  us'  '^ 
I  am  anxious  to  secure  Reilly,  and  either  to  hang  or 
transport  him.     I  would  say  the  latter,  though." 

"  And  I,  the  former,"  observed  Sir  Robert. 

^'  Well,  Bob,  that  is  as  may  happen  ;  but  d — n  me,  I 
say,  he  never  robbed-' the  sheriff  here ;  and  if  he  were 
going  to  the  gallows  to-morrow,  I  would  maintain 
it." 

Neither  the  clergyman  nor  Mr.  Hastings  took  much 
part  in  the  conversation  ;  but  the  eye  of  the  latter  was, 
durii  g  the  greater  portion  of  the  evening,  fixed  upon 
the  baronet,  like  that  of  a  basilisk,  accompanied  by  a 
hidden  meaning,  which  it  was  impossible  to  penetrate, 
but  which,  nevertheless,  lijidsuchan  effect  upon  White- 
craft,  that  lie  could  not  help  observing  it. 

"  It  would  seem,  Mr.  Hastings,"  said  he,  ^'as  if  3^ou 
had  never  seen  me  before.     Your  eye  has  scarcely  been 


216  WILLY    RETLLY. 

off  me  during  the  whole  evening.  It  is  not  pleasant, 
sir,  nor  scarcely  gentlemanly." 

"  You  should  feel  proud  of  it,  Sir  Robert,"  replied 
Hastings  ;   "I  only  admire  you." 

'^  Well,  then,  I  wish  you  would  expr^s  your  admira- 
tion in  some  other  manner  than  by  staring  at  me." 

'^  D — n  it.  Sir  Robert,"  said  the  squire,  "  don't  y^ou 
know  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  ?  Hastings  must 
be  a  man  of  devilish  good  taste.  Bob,  and  you  ought  to 
thank  him." 

Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Hastings  soon  afterwards  went 
up-stairs,  and  left  the  other  gentlemen  to  their  liquor, 
which  they  now  began  to  enjoy  with  more  convivial 
spirit.  The  old  squire's  loyality  rose  to  a  very  high 
pitch,  as  indeed  did  that  of  his  companions,  all  of  whom 
entertained  the  same  principles,  with  the  exception  of 
Lord  Deilmacare,  whose  opinions  could  neverbe  got  at, 
for  the  very  sufficient  reason  that  he  did  not  know  them 
himself. 

"•  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  ''  help  3^our- 
self,  and  push  the  bottle  ;  now  that  those  two  half  Pa- 
pists are  gone,  we  can  breathe  and  speak  a  little  more 
freely.  Here's  our  glorious  constitution,  in  Church  and 
State,  and  d — n  all  priests  and  Papists — barring  a  few, 
that  I  know  to  be  honest." 

^'I  drink  it,  but  I  omit  the  exception,^'  said  Sir  Rob- 
ert, "and  I  wonder,  sir,  you  would  make  any  excep- 
tion to  such  a  toast." 

"  I  drink  it,"  said  Smellpriest,  "including  the  ras- 
cal priests." 

"And  I  drink  it,"  said  the  sheriff,  "as  it  has  been 
proposed." 

"What  was  it?"  said  Lord  Deilmacare;  "come,  I 
drink  it — it  doesn't  matter.  I  suppose  coming  from  our 
excellent  host,  it  must  be  right  and  proper." 

They  caroused  deeply,  and  in  proportion  as  the 
liquor  affected  their  brains,  so  did  their  determination  to 


WILLY    REILLY.  217 

rid  tlie  squire  of  the  rebel  Reilly  form  itself  into  an  ex- 
press resolution  to  that  effect. 

^'  Hang  Reilly — hang  the  villain — the  gallows  for 
him — Juirrah  !  "  and  in  this  charitable  sentiment  their 
voices  all  joined  in  a  fierce  and  drmiken  exclamation, 
uttered  with  their  hands  all  clasped  in  each  other,  with 
a  strong  and  firm  grip.  From  one  mouth  alone,  how- 
ever, proceeded,  amidst  a  succession  of  hickups,  the 
word  '^  transportation";  which  when  Lord  Deilmacare 
heard,  he  changed  his  principle,  and  joined  the  old 
squire  in  the  same  mitigation  of  feeling. 

'^  I  say  Deilmacare,"  shouted  Sir  Robert,  'Sve  must 
liang  him  high  and  dry." 

"'  Very  well,"  replied  his  lordship,  '*  with  all  my  heart. 
Sir  Robert ;  we  must  hang  you  high  and  dry." 

^'But,  Deilmacare,"  said  the  squire,  ''  we  shall  only 
transport  him." 

"  Very  good,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  emptying  a 
bumper ;  ''we  shall  only  transport  you  Sir  Robert."   . 

''  Hang  him,  Deilmacare  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  hang  him  !  " 

''  Transport  him,  I  say,  Deilmacare,"  from  the  squire. 

"Good  again,"  said  his  lordship ;  ''transport  him, 
say  I." 

And  on  went  the  drunken  revel,  until  they  scarcely 
knew  what  they  said. 

The  clerg}'man  and  Mr.  Hastings,  on  reaching  the 
drawing-room,  found  Helen  in  a  state  of  inexpressible 
distress.  A  dispute  on  the  prevailing  morals  of  all  mod- 
ern young  ladies  had  been  got  up  by  Lady  Joram  and 
Mrs.  Oxle}",  for  the  express  purpose  of  venting  tlieir 
diabolical  malice  against  the  poor  girl,  because  they 
had  taken  it  in  their  heads  that  she  paid  more  atten- 
tion to  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hastings  than  she  did  to 
them.  This  dispute  was  tantamount  to  what,  in  the 
prize  ring,  is  called  a  cross,  when  the  fight  is  only 
a  mock  one,  and  termipates  by  the  voluntary  defeat 


218  WILLY    REILLi  ^ 

of  one  of  the  parties,  upon  a  pii^econ ceiled  arrange- 
ment. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  my  lady  ;  nor  can  T  think 
that  the  morals  of  young  ladies  in  'ighlif^,  by  which  I 
mean  the  daughters  and  heiresses  of  wealt'ay  squires — " 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Oxley,"  said  her  ladyship,  inter- 
rujDting  her,  and  placing  her  hand  gently  upon  her  arm, 
as  if  to  solicit  her  consent  to  the  observadon  she  was 
about  to  make,  '^you  know,  m}^  dear  Mrf.  Oxley,  that 
the  daughter  of  a  mere  country  squire  can  have  no  pre- 
tentions to  come  under  the  definition  of  high  life." 

^'  Wy  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Oxley  ;  "  the  squires  are  of- 
ten wealthier  than  the  harist'ocracy ;  and  I  don't  at  all 
see,"  she  added,  "  w'y  the  daughter  of  such  a  man  should 
not  be  considered  as  moving  in  'igh  life — always,  of 
course,  provided  that  she  forms  no  disgraceful  attach- 
ments to  Papists  and  rebels  and  low  persons  of  that 
'ere  class.  No,  my  lady,  I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you 
in  your  view  of  'igh  life." 

''  You  don't  appear,  madam,  to  entertain  a  sufficiently 
accurate  estimate  of  high  life." 

^^  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  think  I  can  understand 
'iofh  life  as  well  as  those  that  don't  know  it  better  nor 
myself.  I  'ave  seen  a  great  deal  of  'igh  life.  Feyther 
'ad  a  willar  at  'Igate,  and  'Igate  is  known  to  be  the 
'ighest  place  about  the  metropolis  of  Lunnon — it  and  St. 
Paul's  are  upon  a  bevel." 

"  Level,  perhaps,  you  mean,  ma'am  %  " 

^* Level  or  bevel,  it  doesn't  much  diversify;  but  I 
prefer  the  bevel  to  the  level  on  all  occasions.  All  I 
know  is,"  she  proceeded,  ^'that  it  is  a  shame  for  any 
young  lady,  as  is  a  young  lady,  to  take  a  liking  to  a 
Papist,  because  we  know  the  Papists  are  all  rebels,  and 
would  cut  our  throats,  only  for  the  protection  of  our  gen- 
erous and  merciful  laws." 

*'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  merciful  laws,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Brown.     ''  They  surely   cannot  be  such 


WILLV    KElLi.V.  219 

laws  as  oppress  and  persecute  a  portion  of  the  people, 
and  give  an  unjust  license  to  one  class  to  persecute  an- 
other, and  to  prevent  them  from  exercising  the  duties 
which  their  rehgion  imposes  upon  them." 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Joram,  "all  I  wish  is,  that  the 
Papists  were  exterminated  ;  we  should  then  have  no  ap- 
prehensions that  our  daughters  would  disgrace  them- 
selves by  falling  in  love  with  them." 

This  conversation  was  absolutely  cruel,  and  the  a- 
miable  Mrs.  Brown,  from  compassion  to  Helen,  withdrew 
her  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  her  upon  a  different  topic,  assuring  her  pre- 
viously that  she  would  detail  their  offensive  and  ungen- 
erous remarks  to  her  father,  who,  she  trusted,  would' 
never  see  them  under  his  roof  again,  nor  give  them  an 
opportunity  of  indulging  in  their  vulgar  malignity  a 
second  time.  Helen  thanked  her,  and  said  their  hints 
and  observations,  though  rude  and  ungenerous,  gave 
her  but  little  pain.  The  form  of  language  in  which 
they  Were  expressed,  she  added,  and  the  indefensible 
violation  of  all  the  laws  of  hospitality,  blunted  the  se- 
verity of  what  they  said. 

"I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  said,  "  of  my  attachment 
to  the  brave  and  g-enerous  young"  man  who  saved  my 
father's  life.  He  is  of  no  vulgar  birth,  but  a  highly 
educated  and  highly  accomplished  gentleman — a  man, 
in  fact,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown,  whom  no  woman,  be  her 
ra*nk  in  life  ever  so  hioh  or  exalted,  misfht  blush  to  love. 
/  do  not  blush  to  make  the  avowal  that  I  love  him  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  in  consequence  of  the  existing  laws 
of  the  country,  my  love  for  him,  which  I  will  never 
conceal,  must  be  a  hopless  one  " 

"  I  regiet  tlie  state  of  those  laws,  m.y  dear  Miss  Fol- 
Hard,  as  much  as  you  do ;  but  still  their  existence  puts 
a  breach  between  3'ou  and  Reilly  ;  and  under  those  cir- 
cumstances my  advice  to  you  is  to  overcome  }'our  affec- 
tion for  him  if  you  can.    Marriage  is  out  of  the  question." 


220  WILLY   REILLY. 

'It  is  not  marriage  I  think  of — for  that  is  out  of  the 
question — but  Reilly's  life  and  safety.  If  he  were  safe, 
I  should  feel  comparatively  happy  ;  happiness,  in  its 
full  extent,  I  never  can  hope  to  enjoy  ;  but  if  he  were 
only  safe — if  he  were  only  safe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown  ! 
I  know  that  he  is  hunted  like  a  beast  of  prey  ;  and  un- 
der such  circumstances  as  disturb  and  distract  the  coun- 
try, how  can  he  escape  ?  " 

The  kind'hearted  lady  consoled  her  as  well  as  she 
could ;  but,  in  fact,  her  grounds  for  consolation  were  so 
slender  that  her  arguments  only  amounted  to  those  gen- 
eral observations,  which,  commonplace  as  they  are,  we 
are  in  the  habit  of  hearing  from  day  to  day.  Helen  was 
too  high-minded  to  shed  tears  ;  but  Mrs.  Brown  could 
plainly  perceive  the  depth  of  her  emotion,  and  feel  the 
extent  of  what  she  suffered. 

We  shall  not  detail,  at  further  length,  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  other  ladies — if  ladies  they  can  be  called, 
nor  that  of  the  gentlemen,  after  they  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room. Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  attempted  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  Helen,  but  found  himself  firmly 
and  decidedly  repulsed.  In  point  of  fact,  some  of  the 
gentlemen  were  not  in  a  state  to  grace  a  drawing-room, 
and  in  a  short  time  they  took  their  leave,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIR  ROBERT  MEETS  A  BROTHER  SPORTSMAN DRAWS  HIS 

NETS,  BUT  CATCHES  NOTHING. 

" 'Tis  conscience  that  makes  cowards  of  us  all,"  said 
Shakspere,  with  that  wonderful  wisdom  which  enlight- 
ens his  glorious  pages ;  and,  in  fact.  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  in  his  own  person,  fully  corroborated  the  truth  of 
the  poet's  apothegm.     The  man,  besides,  was  naturally 


UlI^liY      ItHrlLiijY  ^/>1 


a  coward ;  and  when  to  this  we  add  the  consciousness 
of  his  persecutions  and  cruelties,  and  his  apprehensions 
from  the  revenge  of  Reiily, — the  destruction  of  whose 
property,  without  any  authority  from  Government  for 
the  act,  he  felt  himself  guilty  of — the  reader  may  un- 
derstand the  nature  and  extent  of  his  terrors  on  his  way 
home.  The  distance  between  liis  own  house  and  that 
of  his  intended  father-in-law  was  about  four  miles,  and 
there  lay  a  long  space  of  level  road,  hedged  in,  as  was 
then  the  custom,  on  both  sides,  from  behind  which 
hedges  an  excellent  aim  could  be  taken.  As  Sir  Robert 
proceeded  along  this  lonely  path  his  horse  stumbled 
against  some  stones  that  were  in  his  way,  or  perhaps, 
that  had  been  purposely  placed  there.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  baronet  fell,  and  a  small  man,  of  compact 
size  and  vigorous  frame,  was  found  aiding  him  to  rise. 
Having  helped  him  into  his  saddle,  the  baronet  asked 
him,  with  an  infirm  and  alarmed  voice,  who  he  was. 

'^  Why,  Sir  Robert,"  he  replied,  '•  you  must  know 
I  am  not  a  papist,  or  I  wouldn't  be  apt  to  render  you  an}- 
assistance  ;  I  am  somewhat  of  your  own  kidney, — a  bit 
of  a  priest-hunter  on  a  small  scale.  I  used  to  set  them 
for  Captain  Smellpriest,  but  he  paid  me  badly,  and,  as 
there  was  a  great  risk  among  the  bloody  Papists,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  withdraw  out  of  his  service  ;  but  you 
are  a  gentleman.  Sir  Robert,  what  Captain  Smellpriest 
is  not,  and  if  you  want  an  active  and  useful  enemy  to 
Popery,  I  am  your  man." 

*'  I  want  such  a  person,  certainly,"  replied  the  bar- 
onet, who,  in  consequence,  of  the  badness  of  the  road 
and  the  darkness  of  the  night,  was  obliged  to  walk  his 
horse  with  caution.  ^'  By  the  way,"  said  he,  ''  did  you 
not  hear  a  noise  behind  the  hedg-e  ?" 

""  I  did,"  replied  the  other,  ''but  it  was  the  noise  of 
cattle." 

"lam  not  aware,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "what  the 
devil  cattle   can  have  to  do  immediately  behind  the 


222  WILLY    REILLY. 

hedge.  I  rather  think  they  are  some  of  our  own  spe- 
cies ;"  and,  as  they  ceased  speaking,  the  tremendous 
bray  of  a  jackass  came  upon  their  ears. 

''You  were  right,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  his  compan- 
ion; ^' I  beg  pardon,  I  mean  that  I  was  right;  you 
know  now  it  was  cattle." 

''What  is  your  name  V  asked  Sir  Robert. 

''  Rowland  Drum,  Sir  Robert;  and,  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  I  should  like  to  see  you  safe  home.  I  need 
not  say  that  you  are  hated  by  the  Papists ;  and,  as  the 
road  is  lonesome  and  dangerous,  as  a  priest- hunter  my- 
self, I  think  it  an  act  of  duty  not  to  leave  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Sir  Robert;  "you  are  a  civil 
person,  and  I  will  accept  your  escort." 

"  Whatever  danger  you  may  run,  Sir  Robert,  I  will 
stand  by  your  side  and  partake  of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  friend,"  replied  Sir  Robert ;  "  therein 
a  lonely  place  before  us,  where  a  ghost  is  said  to  be 
seen — the  ghost  of  a  priest  whom  I  bunted  for  a  long 
time.  Smell  priest,  it  is  said,  shot  him  at  the  place  I 
allude  to.  He  was  disguised  as  a  drummer,  and  is  said 
to  haunt  the  locality  where  he  was  shot." 

"  Well,  1  shall  see  you  safe  over  the  place.  Sir  Rob- 
ert, and  go  home  Avith  you  afterwards,  provided  you 
will  promise  to  give  me  a  bed  and  my  supper  ;  to-mor- 
row we  can  talk  on  matters  of  business." 

"I  shall  certainly  do  so,"  replied  Sir  Robert,  "not 
only  in  consequence  of  your  attention  to  me,  but  of  our 
common  purpose." 

They  then  proceeded  onwards — passed  the  haunted 
spot — without  either  hearing  or  seeing  the  spectral 
drummer.  On  arriving  at  home.  Sir  Robert,  who  drank 
privately,  orded  wine  for  himself,  and  sent  Rowland 
Drum  to  the  kitchen,  where  he  was  rather  meagrely  en- 
tertained, and  was  afterwards  lodged  for  the  night  in 
the  garret. 

The  next  moriiinn;-,  after  breakfast,  Sir   Robert  sent 


WILLY   REILLY.  223 

for  Mr.  Drum,  who,  on  entering  the  breakfast  parlor 
was  thus  addressed  by  his  new  patron : — 

^'  What's  this  you  say  your  name  is  f 

"  Rowland  Drum,  sir." 

''  Rowland  Drum  !  Well  now,  Rowland  Drum,  are 
you  well  acquainted   with  the  priests  of  this  diocese?" 

''  No  man  better,"  replied  the  redoubtable  Rowland. 
*'  I  know  most  of  them  by  person,  and  have  got 
private  descriptions  of  them  all  from  Captain  Smellpriest, 
which  will  be  invaluable  to  you.  Sir  Robert.  The  fact 
is — and  this  I  mention  in  the  strictest  confidence — that 
Smellpriest  is  suspicious  of  your  attachment  to  our 
glorious  constitution." 

'' The  d — d  rascal,"  replied  the  baronet.  ''Did  he 
ever  burn  as  many  Popish  houses  as  I  have  done !  Pie 
has  no  appetite  for  anything  but  the  pursuit  and  cap- 
ture of  priests ;  but  I  have  a  far  more  general  and  un- 
sparing practice  ;  for  I  not  only  capture  the  priests 
where  I  can,  but  every  lay  Papist  that  we  suspect  in 
the  country.  Here,  for  instance.  Do  you  see  those 
papers?  They  are  blank  protections,  transmitted  to 
me  from  the  iSecretary  of  State,  that  I  may  be  enabled, 
by  his  authority,  to  extend  protection  to  such  Papists 
as  will  give  useful  information  to  the  Government. 
Here  they  are  signed  by  the  Secretary,  but  the  blanks^ 
are  left  for  myself  to  fill  up." 

''I  wish  W'3  could  get  Reilly  to  come  over,"  said  Mr. 
Drum. 

"•  O  the  d— -d  villain,"  said  the  baronet ;  '^  all  the  pro- 
tections from  the  Secretary's  office  would  not  nor  could 
not  save  him„  Old  Folliard  and  I  will  hang  him  if 
there  was  noi:  another  man  to  be  hanged  in  the  three 
kingdoms." 

Atthismomenta  servant  came  in  and  said,  "Sir  Robert, 
there  is  a  woman  here  who  wishes  to  have  some  private 
conversation  with  you." 

''  What  kind  of  a  Vi^oman  is  slie  V  asked  the  baronet. 


224  WILLY    REILLY. 

''Faith,  your  honor,  a  sturdy  and  strapping*  wench, 
somewhat  rough  in  the  face,  but  of  great  proportions." 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Drum  had  been  sitting 
at  the  window  during  this  brief  conversation,  and  at 
once  recognized  under  the  disguise  of  a  woman,  the 
)  celebrated  informer,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hennessy,  a  wretch 
whose  criminal  course  of  life,  as  we  said  before,  was  so 
gross  and  reprobate,  that  his  pious  bishop  deemed  it  his 
duty  to  suspend  him  from  all  clerical  functions. 

^'  Sir  Robert,"  said  Drum,  ''  I  must  go  up  to  my  room 
and  shave.  My  presence,  I  apprehend,  won't  be  nec- 
essary where  there  is  a  lady  in  question." 

^'  Very  well,"  replied  the  baronet :  ''  I  know  not  what 
her  business  may  be;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with 
you  after  she  shall  have  gone." 

It  was  very  well  that  Hennessy  did  not  see  Drum, 
whom  he  would  at  once  have  recognized  ;  but,  at  all 
events,  the  interview  between  the  reprobate  priest  and 
the  baronet  lasted  at  least  an  hour. 

After  the  Rev.  Miss  Hennessy  had  taken  her  depart- 
ure, Mr.  Drum  was  sent  for  by  the  baronet,  whom  he 
still  found  in  the  breakfast-parlor. 

"  Drum,"  said  he,  ''  youhave  no  wan  opportunity  of  es- 
sentially serving  not  only  me,  but  the  Government  of  the 
country.  This  lady  turns  out  to  be  a  Popish  priest  in 
disguise,  and  I  have  taken  him  into  my  confidence,  as  a 
guide  and  auxiliary.  Now,  you  have  given  me  proofs  of 
personal  attachment,  which  is  certainly  more  than  he 
has  done.  I  have  heard  of  his  character  as  an  immoral 
priest;  and  the  man  who  could  be  faLse  to  his  own  creed 
is  not  a  man  to  be  relied  upon.  He  has  described  to  me 
the  position  of  a  cavern,  in  which  are  now  hiding  a  d — d 
set  of  proscribed  priests;  but  I  cainnot  have  confidence 
in  his  information,  and  I  wish  you  to  go  to  the  ra- 
vine, or  cavern,  or  whatever  the  devil  it  is,  and  return  to 
me  with  correct  intelligence.  It  may  be  a  lure  to  draw 
me  into  danger,  or  perhaps  to  deprive  me  of  my  life ; 


WILLY    REILLy.  225 

but,  on  second  thought,  I  think  I  shall  get  a  military 
force  and  go  m3'self." 

"  And  perhaps  never  return,  unless  with  your  heels 
foremost,  Sir  Robert.  I  tell  you  that  this  Hennessy  is 
the  damnedest  and  mosttreacherous  scoundrel  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  You  do  not  know  what  he's  at,  but  I  will 
tell  you,  for  I  have  it  from  his  own  cousin.  His  object 
is  to  have  you  assassinated,  in  order  to  restore  himself 
to  the  good  graces  of  the  bishop  and  the  Catholic  party, 
who,  I  must  say,  however,  would  not  countenance  such 
a  murderous  act ;  still,  Sir  Robert,  if  you  were  taken  off, 
the  man  who  took  you  off  would  have  his  name 
honored  and  exalted  throughout  the  country." 

*^  Yes,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Drum  ;  they  are  thirst- 
ing for  my  blood,  iDut  not  more  than  I  am  thirsting  for 
theirs." 

'^  Well,  then,"  said  Drum,  ''  don't  trust  yourself  to 
the  counsels  of  this  Hennessy,  who,  in  my  opinion, 
only  wants  to  make  a  scapegoat  of  you.  Allow  me  to 
go  to  the  place  he  mentions,  for  I  know  the  ravine  well, 
but  I  never  knew  nor  do  I  believe  that  there  is  a  cavern 
at  all  in  it,  and  that  is  what  makes  me  suspect  the  scoun- 
drel's motives.  He  can  have  hundreds  of  outlaws 
secretly  armed,  who  would  never  suffer  you  to  escape 
with  your  life.  The  thing<  is  an  ambuscade  ;  take  my 
word  for  it,  it  is  nothing  less.  Of  course  you  can  go, 
yourself  and  your  party,  if  you  wish.  You  will  pre- 
vent me  from  running  a  great  risk ;  but  I  am  only 
anxious  for  your  safety." 

''  Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  ''  you  shall  go  upon 
this  mission.  It  may  not  be  safe  for  me  to  do  so.  Try 
if  you  can  make  out  this  cavern,  if  there  be  a  cavern." 

'•  I  tvill  try,  Sir  Robert ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say, 
that  if  it  can  be  made  out  I  will  make  it  out." 

Rowland  Drum,  accordingly,  set  out  upon  his  mission, 
and  having  arrived  at  the  cavern,  with  which  he  was  so 
well  acquainted,  he  entered  it  with  the  usual  risk.     His 


220  WILLY    REILLY. 

voice,  however,  \yas  recognized,  and  he  got  instant  ad- 
mittance. 

'^  My  dear  friends,"  said  he,  after  he  had  entered  the 
inner  part  of  the  cavern,  "you  must  disperse  immediate- 
ly. Hennessy  has  betrayed  you,  and  if  you  remain 
here  twenty-four  hours  longer.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
and  a  party  of  military,  guided,  probably,  by  the  treach- 
erous scoundrel  himself,  will  be  upon  you.  Tlie  villain 
had  a  long  interview  with  him,  and  gave  a  full  detail  of 
the  cavern  and  its  inmates." 

"But  how  did  ^o?(  become  acquainted  with  him  f 
asked  the  bishop. 

"  In  order,  my  Lord,  to  ascertain  his  intentions  and 
future  proceedings,"  replied  Mr.  Drum,  "  that  we  miglit 
guard  against  his  treachery  and  persecution.  On  liis 
way  home  from  a  dinner  at  Squire  FolHard's,  I  met  him 
in  a  lonely  part  of  the  road,  where  lie  was  thrown  from 
liis  horse  ;  I  lielped  him  into  his  saddle,  told  him  I  was 
myself  a  priest-hunter,  and  thus  got  into  his  confidence 
so  far  as  to  be  able  to  frustrate  Hennessy's  treachery, 
and  to  counteract  his  own  designs.'' 

"  Sir,"  said  the  bishop,  sternly,  "  you  have  acted  a 
part  unworthy  of  a  Christian  clergyman.  We  should 
not  do  evil,  that  good  may  follow  ;  and  you  have  done 
evil  in  associating  yourself,^  in  any  sense,  and  for  any 
purpose,  with  this  bloodthirsty  tiger  and  persecuter  of 
the  faithful." 

"  My  Lord,"  replied  the  priest,  '*  this  is  not  a  time  to 
enter  into  a  discussion  on  such  a  subject.  HennessA' 
has  betrayed  us  ;  and  if  yon  do  not  disperse  to  other 
places  of  safety,  he  will  himself,  as  I  said,  lead  Sir 
Robert  Wliitecraft  and  a  military  party  to  this  very 
cavern,  and  then  may  God  have  mercy  on  you  all." 

"  Brethren,"  said  the  bishop,  "  it  is,  after  all,  possible 
that  our  brother  has,  by  the  mercy  and  providence  of 
God,  throuofh  liis  casual  meeting"  with  this  remorseless 
man,  been  made  the  instrument  of  our  safety.     As  for 


WILLY   REILLY.  227 

myself,  I  am  willing  to  embrace  the  crown  of  martyr- 
dom, and  to  lay  down  my  life,  if  necessary,  for  the  faith 
that  is  in  me.  You  all  know  what  I  have  already  suf- 
fered, and  you  know  that  persecution  drives  a  wise  man 
mad.  My  children,"  he  added,  ''■  it  is  possible,  and  i 
fear,  too,  probable,  that  some  of  us  may  never  see  each 
other  in  this  life  again ;  but,  at  the  same  time  let  it  be 
our  hope  and  consolation  that  we  shall  meet  in  a  better. 
And  for  this  purpose,  and  in  order  to  secure  a  futurity 
of  happiness,  let  us  live  spotless  and  irreproachable  lives ; 
such  as  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  hour  of  death, 
whether  it  comes  by  the  hand  of  God  or  the  persecution 
of  man.  Be  faithful  to  the  principles  of  our  holy  reli- 
gion— be  faithful  to  truth — to  moral  virtue — be  faith- 
ful to  God,  before  whose  awful  tribunal  we  must  all  ap- 
pear, and  render  an  account  of  our  lives.  It  would  be 
mere  wantonness  to  throw  yourselves  into  the  hands  of 
our  persecutors.  Reserve  yourselves  for  the  continu- 
ance and  the  sustainment  of  our  blessed  religion  ;  but 
if  you  should  happen  to  fall,  by  the  snares  and  devices 
of  the  enemy,  into  the  power  of  those  who  are  striving 
to  work  our  extermination,  and  if  they  should  press 
you  to  renounce  your  faith,  upon  the  alternative  of 
banishment,  or  death,  then,  I  say,  banishment,  or  death 
itself,  sooner  than  become  apostates  to  your  religion. 
I  shall  retire  to  a  neighborhood  only  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant from  this,  where  the  poor  Catholic  population  are 
without  spiritual  aid  or  consolation.  I  have  been  there 
before,  and  I  know  their  wants,  and  were  it  not  that  I 
was  hunted  and  pursued  with  a  view  to  my  death — to 
my  murder,  I  should  rather  say — I  would  have  remained 
with  them  still.  But  that  I  considered  it  a  duty  to 
that  portion  of  the  Church,  over  which  God  called  up- 
on me  to  preside  and  watch,  I  would  not  have  avoided 
those  inhuman  traffickers  in  the  blood  of  God's  people. 
Yet  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  from  the  clergymen  of  the 
Established  Church  Ave  have  received  kindness,  sym- 


228  WILLY    REILLY. 

pathy,  and  shelter.  Their  doors,  their  hearths,  and 
their  hearts  have  been  open  to  us,  and  that,  too,  in  a 
truly  Christian  spirit.  Let  us,  then,  render  tliem  good 
for  good ;  let  us  pray  for  their  conversion,  and  that  they 
may  return  to  the  right  path." 

'^  They  have  acted  generously  and  nobly,"  added 
Reilly,  "  and  in  a  truly  Christian  spirit.  Were  it  not 
for'the  shelter  and  protection  which  I  myself  received 
from  one  of  them,  my  mangled  body  would,  probably, 
be  huddled  down  into  some  obscure  grave,  as  a  felon ; 
and  my  property — which  is  mine  only  by  a  necessary 
fiction  and  evasion  of  the  law — have  passed  into  the 
hands  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecrafi  I  am  wrong,  how- 
ever, in  saying  that  it  could.  Mr.  Hastings,  a  generous 
and  liberal  Protestant,  took  it  in  his  own  name 
for  my  father,  but  gave  me  a  deed  of  assignment, 
placing  it  as  securely  in  my  liands,  and  in  my  power, 
as  if  I  were  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  himself;  and  I  must 
add — which  I  do  with  pleasure — that  the  deed  in  ques- 
tion is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brown,  the 
amiable  rector  of  the  parish." 

"  But  he  is  a  heretic,''  said  a  red-faced  little  man, 
dressed  in  leather  breeches,  top-boots  and  a  huntsman's 
cap;''^afZe  retro  sathanas.  It  is  a  damnable  crime  to 
have  any  intercourse  with  them,  or  to  receive  any  pro- 
tection from  them  :  vade  retro  sathanas.'^ 

*'  If  I  don't  mistake,"  said  th6  cook — an  arclideacon, 
by  the  way — ''you  yourself  received  protection  from 
them,  and  were  glad  to  receive  it." 

*'  If  I  did  receive  protection  from  one  of  their  heretic 
parsons  it  was  for  Christian  purposes.  My  object  was 
not  so  much  to  seek  protection  from  him,  as  to  work 
out  his  salvation  by  withdrawing  him  from  his  heresy. 
But  then  the  fellow  was  as  obstinate  as  sathanas  him- 
self, and  had  Greek  and  Hebrew  at  his  fingers'  ends. 
I  made  several  passes  at  him — tried  Irisli,  and  told  him 
it  was  Italian.     'Well,  said  he,  smiling,  'I  understand 


WILLY    REILLY.  229 

Italian,  too ;'  and  to  my  astonishment  he  addressed  me 
in  the  best  Irish  I  ever  heard  spoken.  *  Now,'  said  he, 
still  smiling,  '  you  perceive  that  I  understand  Italian 
nearly — I  will  not  say  so  well — as  you  do/  Now,  as  I 
am  a  sinner,  that,  I  say,  was  ungenerous  treatment. 
He  was  perfectly  irreclaimable." 

This  man  was,  like  Mr.  Maguire,  what  has  been 
termed  a  hedge-priest,  a  character  which,  as  we  have 
already  said,  the  poverty  of  the  Catholic  people,  during 
the  existence  of  the  penal  laws,  and  the  consequent 
wantof  spiritual  instruction,  rendered  necessary.  There 
were  no  Catholic  colleges  in  the  country,  and  the  re- 
sult was,  that  the  number  of  foreign  priests — by  which 
I  mean  Irish  priests  educated  in  foreign  colleges — was 
utterly  inadequate  to  meet  the  spiritual  necessities  of 
the  Irish  population.  Under  those  circumstances,  men 
of  good  and  virtuous  character,  who  understood  some- 
thing of  the  Latin  tongue,  were  ordained  by  their  re- 
spective bishops,  for  the  purpose  which  we  have' already 
mentioned.  But  what  a  difference  was  there  between 
those  half  educated  men,  and  the  class  of  educated 
clergymen  who  now  adorn,  not  only  their  Church,  but 
the  literature  of  the  country  ! 

^'  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  ^'let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  protection  which  we  have  received  at 
the  hands  of  the  Protestant  clergy,  and  of  many  of  the 
Protestant  laity  also.  We  now  separate,  and  I  for  one 
am  sensible  how  much  this  cruel  persecution  has 
strengthened  the  bonds  of  Christian  love  among  us,  and 
excited  our  sympa4jiy  for  our  poor  persecuted  flock, 
so  many  of  whom  are  now  without  a  shepherd.  I  leave 
you  with  tears,  but  they  are  tears  of  affection,  and  not 
of  despair.  I  shall  endeavor  to  be  useful,  wherever  I 
may  abide.  Let  each  of  you  do  all  the  spiritual  good 
you  can— all  the  earthly  good — all  good  in  its  most 
enlarged  and  purest  sense.  But  we  must  separate — 
probably  some  of  us  forever ;  and  now  may  the  blessing 


230  WILLY   REILLY. 

of  the  Almighty  God — of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost — rest  upon  you  all,  and  be  with  you  and  abide 
in  your  hearts,  now  and  forever  !     Amen  !  " 

Having  pronounced  these  words,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  two  hands  and  wept  bitterly.  There  were, 
indeed,  few  dry  eyes  around  him ;  they  knelt  before 
him,  kissed  his  ring,  and  prepared  to  take  their  depart- 
ure out  of  the  cavern. 

*'  My  lord,"  said  Reilly,  who  still  entertained  appre- 
hensions of  the  return  of  his  malady,  ''  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  I  shall  share  your  fate,  whatever  it  may  be. 
The  poor  people  you  allude  to  are  not  in  the  condition 
to  attend  to  3'our  wants.  Allow  me,  then,  to  attend  and 
accompany  3^ou  in  your  retreat." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  bishop,  clasping  his  hand, 
''  you  are  heaping  coals  of  fire  upo-n  my  head.  I  trust 
you  will  forgive  me  ;  for  I  knew  not  what  I  did.  I 
shall  be  glad  of  your  companionship.  I  fear  I  still 
stand  in  need  of  such  a  friend.  Be  it  so,  then,"  he  pro- 
ceeded— '^  be  it  so,  my  dear  friend  ;  only  that  I  should 
not  wish  you  to  involve  yourself  in  unnecessary  danger 
on  my  account." 

"Danger,  my  lord !  "  replied  Reilly ;  "  there  is  not  an 
individual  here  against  whom  personal  malignity  has 
directed  the  vengeance  of  the  law  with  such  a  blood- 
thirsty and  vindictive  spirit  as  against  myself  Why 
else  am  I  here  ?  No,  I  will  accompany  your  lordship, 
and  share  your  fate." 

It  was  so  determined,  and  they  left  the  cavern,  each 
to  procure  some  place  of  safety  for  himself 

In  the  meantime.  Sir  Robert  Whitecrafx  having  had 
another  interview  with  Hennessy,  was  prevailed  upon 
to  get  a  military  party  together ;  and  the  cunning  repro- 
bate, in  order  to  excite  the  baronet's  vengeance  to  a 
still  higher  pitch,  mentioned  a  circumstan  ce  which  he  had 
before  forgotten,  to  wit,  that  Reilly,  his  arch-enemy, 
was  also  in  the  cave. 


WILLY    KEILLY.  231 

'*  But,"  said  Sir  Robert,  wlio  as  we  have  already  said, 
was  a  poltroon  and  a  coward,  ^'  what  guaranty  can  you 
give  me  that  you  are  not  leading  me  into  an  ambuscade  ? 
You  know  that  I  am  unpopular,  and  the  Ifapists  would 
be  delighted  to  have  my  blood  ;  what  guaranty,  then, 
can  vou  give  me  that  you  are  acting  by  me  in  good 
fkithf' 

"  The  guaranty  of  my  own  life,"  replied  the  other. 
^'  Let  me  be  placed  between  two  of  your  men,  and  if 
you  see  anything  like  an  ambuscade,  let  them  shoot  me 
dead  on  the  spot." 

"  Why,"  replied  the  baronet,  '^  that  is  fair  ;  but  the 
truth  is,  I  have  been  put  on  my  guard  against  you,  by  a 
person  who  escorted  me  home  last  night.  He  rendered 
me  some  assistance  when  I  fell  from  my  horse,  and  he 
slept  here." 

*'  What  is  his  name!"  asked  Hennessy. 

^'  He  told  me,"  replied  the  baronet,  "  that  his  name 
was  Drum." 

^'  Could  you  give  me  a  description,  Sir  Robert,  of  his 
person  f 

Sir  Robert  did  so. 

*'  I  declare  to  God,  Sir  Robert,  you  have  had  a  narrow 
escape  from  that  man.  He  is  one  of  the  most  bigoted 
priests  in  the  kingdom.  He  used  to  disguise  himself  as 
a  drummer — for  his  father  was  in  the  army,  and  he  him- 
self was  a  drummer  in  his  boyhood ;  and  his  object  in 
preventing  you  from  bringing  a  militar}^  party  to  the 
cavern  was  merely  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity 
of  giving  them  notice  of  your  intentions.  I  now  say 
that  if  you  lose  an  hour's  time  they  will  be  gone." 

Sir  Robert  did  not  lose  an  hour's  time.  The  local 
barracks  were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  his  house. 
A  party  of  military  were  immediately  called  out,  and, 
in  a  short  time  the}"  arrived,  under  the  guidance  of 
Hennessy,  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  cavern  which  he 
disclosed  to  them.     It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  the  par- 


232  WILLY    REILLY. 

ticulars  of  the  search.  The  soldiers  entered  it  one  by 
one,  but  found  that  the  birds  had  flown.  The  very- 
fires  were  burning,  but  not  a  hving  soul  in  the  cave  ; 
it  was  completely  deserted,  and  nothing  remained  but 
some  miserable  relics  of  cold  provisions,  with  which,  by 
the  aid  of  fire  splices  that  served  as  torches,  they  re- 
galed themselves  as  far  as  they  went. 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  now  felt  full  confidence  in 
Hennessy,  but  would  have  given  a  trifle  to  renew  his 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Rowland  Drum,  by  whose  in- 
genuity he  was  so  completely  outwitted.  As  it  was  they 
scoured  the  country  in  search  of  the  inmates  of  the  cave, 
but  above  all  things  in  search  of  Reilly,  for  whose  cap- 
ture Whitecraft  would  have  forgiven  every  man  in  the 
cavern.  The  search,  however,  was  unsuccessful ;  not 
a  man  of  them  was  caught  that  day,  and  gallant  Sir 
Robert  and  his  myrmidons  were  obliged  to  return, 
wearied  and  disappointed  men. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

REILLY  IS  TAKEN,  BUT  CONNIVED  AT  BY  THE  SHERIFF ; 
THE  MOUNTAIN  MASS. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  traversed  a  wild  and  remote 

part  of  the  country,  in  which  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  long,  barren  wastes,  over  which  were  studded, 
here  and  there,  a  few  solitary  huts ;  upon  its  extremity, 
however,  there  were  some  houses  cf  a  more  comfortable 
description,  the  habitations  of  middling  farmers,  who 
2)0ssessed  small  farms  at  a  moderate  rent.  As  they  went 
along,  the  prelate  addressed  Reilly  in  the  following 
terms : — 

"  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  he,  ''  I  would  advise  you  to  get 
out  of  this  unhappy  country,  as  soon  as  you  can." 


WILLY    REILLY.  233 

*'My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  who  was  all  candor  and 
truth,  and  never  could  conceal  liis  sentiments,  at  what- 
ever risk  ;  "I  cannot  think  of  leaving  the  country,  let 
the  consequences  be  what  they  may.  I  will  not  trouble 
your  lordship  with  my  motives,  because  tliey  are  at 
variance  with  your  character  and  religious  feelings ; 
but  they  are  not  at  variance  with  religion  or  morality. 
It  is  enough  to  say,  that  I  wish  to  prevent  a  beautiful 
and  innocent  girl  from  being  sacrificed.  My  lord,  you 
know  to  well  that  persecution  is  abroad;  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  through  the  influence  which  this  admir- 
able creature  has  over  her  father — who,  by  the  w^ay, 
has  himself  the  character  of  a  persecutor — many  Catho- 
lics have  been  protected  by  him,  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
blame  me  for  the  interest,  which  I  feel  in  her  fate.  In 
addition  to  this,  my  lord,  she  has  been  a  ministering 
angel  to  the  Catholic  poor  in  general,  and  has  contribu- 
ted vast  sums,  privately,  to  the  relief  of  such  of  our 
priesthood  as  have  been  brought  to  distress  by  the 
persecution  of  the  times.  Nay,  she  has  so  far  influenced 
her  father,  that  proscribed  priests  have  found  refuge  and 
protection  in  his  house." 

The  bishop,  on  hearing  this,  stood,  and  taking  off 
his  hat,  raised  his  right  hand,  and  said :  '^  May  the  bless- 
ings of  the  Almighty  God  rest  upon  her,  and  guard  her 
from  the  snares  of  those  who  w^ould  make  her  unhappy  ! 
But,  Reilly,  as  you  say  you  are  determined,  if  possible, 
to  rescue  her  from  ruin,  you  know  that  if  you  go  at 
large  in  your  usual  dress  you  will  unquestionably  be 
taken.  I  advise  you,  then,  to  disguise  yourself  in  such 
a  wa}^  as  that  you  will  not,  if  possible,  be  known." 

'^  Such,  my  lord,  is  my  intention — but  who  is  this? 
what — eh — yes,  'tis  Fergus  O'Reilly,  a  distant  and 
humble  relation  of  mine,  who  is  also  in  disguise. 
Well,  Fergus,  where  have  you  been  for  some  time 
past  I  " 

*'  It  would  be  diiioult  to  tell  yo-u  that,  God  knows ;  I 


234  WILLY    REILLY. 

have  been   everywhere — but/'  he  added  in  a  whisper, 
**  may  I  speak  freely  ?  " 

^' As  free  as  the  wind  that  blows,  Fergus." 
''  Well,  then,  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
has  engaged  me  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  you,  and  said 
that  I  would  be  handsomely  rewarded,  if  I  could  suc- 
ceed in  enabling  the  scoundrel  to  apprehend  you." 
^'  But  how  did  that  come  about,  Fergus  I " 
^'  Faith,  he  met  me  one  day — you  see  I  have  got.  a 
bag  at  ni}^'  back — and  taking  me  for  a  beggarman, 
stopped  me  on  the  road.  '  1  say,  you  poor  man/  says 
he,  'what's  your  name  ?  '  '  Paddy  M'Fud,'  says  I — 'I 
belong  to  the  M'Fud's  of  Bully macnockem.'  '  You're  a 
beggar,' says  he,  '  and  travel  from  place  to  place  about 
the  country.'  '  It's  true  enough,  your  honor,'  I  replied, 
'  I  travel  about  a  good  deal,  of  course,  and  it  is  only 
that  way  I  get  my  bit  and  sup.'  *  Do  you  know  the 
notorious  villain  called  Willy  Eeilly  I '  ^  Not  by  sight, 
your  honor,  but  I  have  often  heard  of  him.  Wasn't 
he  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Coleen  Bawn,  Squire  Fol- 
liard's  daughter  I '  '  That's  not  the  question  between  us,' 
he  said,  '  but  if  you  enable  me  to  catch  Reilly,  I  will 
give  you  twenty  pounds.'  '  Well,  your  honor,'  says  I, 
'  lave  the  thing  to  myself — if  he's  to  be  had,  it'll  go 
hard  but  I'll  find  him.'  '  Well,  then,'  says  he,  '  if  you 
can  tell  me  where  he  is,  I  will  give  you  twenty  pounds, 
as  I  said.'  '  Well,  sir,'  says  I,  'I  expect  to  hear  from 
you ;  I'm  not  sure  he's  in  the  country — indeed,  they 
say  he  is  not — but  if  he  is,  I  think  I'll  find  him  for  you ; ' 
and  so  we   parted." 

*'  Fergus,"  said  Reilly,  "  I  feel  that  a  disguise  is  nec- 
essary. Here  is  money  to  enable  you  to  purchase  one. 
I  do  not  know  where  you  may  be  able  to  find  me;  but 
go  and  buy  me  a  suit  of  frieze,  rather  worn,  a  dingy 
caubeen  hat,  coarse  Connemara  stockings,  and  a  pair  of 
clouted  brogues  ;  some  coarse  linen,  too  ;  because  the 
fineness  of  my  shirts,  should  I  happen  to  be  apprehended^ 


WILLY   REILLY.  235 

might  betray  me.     Leave  them  with  Widow  Buckley, 
and  I  can  find  them  there." 

It  was  so  arranged.  Fergus  went  on  his  way,  as  did 
Reilly  and  the  bishop.  The  latter  conducted  him  to 
tlie  house  of  a  middling  farmer,  whose  son  the  bishop 
had  sent,  at  his  own  expense,  to  a  continental  college. 
They  were  both  received  with  the  warmest  affection, 
and  so  far  as  the  bishop  was  concerned,  with  every  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  gratitude.  The  situation  was 
remote,  and  the  tumult  of  pursuit  did  not  reach  them. 
Reilly  privately  forced  upon  the  farmer  compensation 
for  their  support,  under  a  solemn  injunction  that  he 
should  not  communicate  that  circumstance  to  the  bish- 
op ;  and  neither  did  he.  They  were  here,  then,  com- 
paratively safe ;  but  still  Reilly  dreaded  the  active 
vigilance  of  his  deadly  enemy,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft. 
He  felt  that  a  disguise  was  absolutely  necessary,  and 
that,  without  it,  he  might  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  diabolical 
vengeance  of  his  powerful  enemy.  In  the  course  of 
about  ten  days  after  he  had  commissioned  Fergus  to 
procure  him  the  disguise,  he  resolved  to  visit  Widow 
Buckley,  in  order  to  make  the  necessary  exchange  in 
his  apparel.  He  accordingly  set  out — very  foolishly, 
we  must  admit — in  open  day  to  go  to  the  widow's 
house.  The  distance  was  some  miles.  No  appearance 
of  danger  or  pursuit  was  evident,  until  he  came  to  the 
sharp  angle  of  the  road,  where  he  was  met  by  four  pow- 
erful constables,  who  on  looking  at  him  immediately 
surrounded  him  and  made  him  prisoner.  Resistance 
was  impossible ;  they  were  well  armed,  and  he  was 
without  any  weapon  with  which  he  could  defend  him- 
self. 

"  We  have  a  warrant  for  your  apprehension,  sir," 
said  one  of  them. 

^'  Upon  what  grounds  ?  "  replied  Reilly.  ''  I  am  con- 
scious of  no  offence  against  the  laws  of  the  land.  Do 
you  know  who  I  am  ?  and  is  my  name  in  your  warrant  ?  "^ 


236  WILLY    REILLY. 

"  No,  but  your  appearance  answers  completely  to 
the  description  given  in  the  Hue  and  Cry:  Your  dress 
is  the  same  as  that  of  the  robber.  And  you  must  come 
with  us  to  the  sheriff,  whom  you  have  robbed.  His 
house  is  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  this." 

They  accordingly  proceeded  to  the  Sheriff's  house, 
whom  they  found  at  home.  On  being  informed  that 
they  had  captured  the  man  who  had  robbed  him,  he 
came  down-stairs  with  great  alacrity,  and  in  a  spirit  re- 
plete with  vengeance  against  the  robber.  The  Sheriff, 
however,  was  really  a  good-natured  and  conscientious 
man,  and  would  not  lend  himself  to  a  dishonorable  act, 
nor  had  he  ever  been  known  to  do  so.  When  he  ap- 
peared, Eeilly  addressed  him. 

''  I  am  here,  sir,"  said  he,  '^  under  a  charge  of  hav- 
ing robbed  you.  The  charge  against  me  is  ridiculous. 
I  am  a  gentleman,  and  never  was  under  the  i.ecessity  of 
having  recourse  to  such  unlawful  means  of  raising 
money." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  '^  your  dress  is  precisely 
the  same  as  the  fellow  wore  when  he  robbed  me.  But 
I  feel  confident  that  you  are  not  the  man.  your  hair  is 
black,  his  was  red,  and  he  had  large  red  whiskers.  In 
the  excitement  and  agitation  of  the  moment,  I  forgot  to 
mark  the  villain's  features  distinctly ;  but  I  have  since 
thought  the  matter  over,  and  I  say  that  I  would  now 
know  him  if  I  saw  him  again.  This,  however,"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  constables,  '^  is  not  the  person 
who  robbed  and  beat  me  down  from  my  horse." 

"  Bat  he  may  be  Willy  Reilly,  sir,  for  all  that;  and 
you  know  the  reward  that  is  offered  for  Ms  apprehen- 
sion." 

^' I  know  Willy  Reilly,"  replied  the  sheriff,  ''  and  I 
can  assure  you  that  this  gentleman  is  not  Willy  Reilly. 
Go,  now,  continue  your  pursuit.  The  robber  lurks 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood.  You  know  the  re- 
ward ;  catch  him,  and  you  shall  have  it" 


WILLY    REILLY.  237 

The  constables  departed  ;  and  after  they  had  gone, 
the  sheriff  said  : — 

*'  Mr.  Reilly,  I  know  you  well  ;  but  1  would  scorn  to 
avail  myself  of  the  circumstance  which  has  thus  occur- 
red. I  am  aware  of  the  motive  which  urges  Sir  Kob- 
ert  Whitecraft  against  you — so  is  the  whole  country. 
That  penurious  and  unprincipled  villain  is  thirsting  for 
your  blood.  Mr.  Hastings,  however,  has  a  rod  in  pickle 
for  him,  and  he  will  be  made  to  feel  it  in  the  course 
of  time.  The  present  administration  is  certainly  an 
anti-Catholic  one  ;  but  I  understand  it  is  tottering,  and 
that  a  more  liberal  one  wdll  come  in.  This  White- 
craft  has  succeeded  in  getting  some  young  profligate 
Catholics  to  become  Protestants,  who  have,  consequent- 
ly, ousted  their  fathers  out  of  their  estates  and  prop- 
erty ;  younger  sons,  who,  by  this  act  of  treachery, 
will  get  the  estates  into  their  own  possession.  The  thing 
is  monstrous  and  unnatural.  But  let  that  pass ;  White- 
craft  is  on  your  trail  in  all  directions ;  beware  of  him, 
I  say  ;  and  I  think,  with  great  respect  to  you,  Mr. 
Reilly,  it  is  extremely  foolish  to  go  abroad  in  your 
usual  apparel,  and  without  disguise." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "  I  cannot  express  as  I  would 
wish,  my  deep  gratitude  to  you  for  your  kindness  and 
forbearance.  That  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  is  thirsting 
for  my  blood  I  know.  The  cause  of  that  vengeance  is 
now  notorious." 

''You  know  Mr.  Hastings,  Mr.  Reilly f 

'*  Intimately,  sir." 

''  He  took  your  property  in  his  own  name  f 

'^  He  did,  sir ;  he  purchased  it  in  his  own  name.  The 
property  was  hereditary  property,  and  when  my  title 
to  it,  in  point  of  law,  as  a  Catholic,  was  questioned,  and 
when  one  of  my  family,  as  a  Protestant,  put  in  his 
claim  for  it,  Mr.  Hastings  came  in  as  the  purchaser, 
and  ousted  him.  The  raone}^  was  supplied  by  me.  The 
moment,  however,  that  I  found   Whitecraft  was  after 


238  WILLY    RETLLY. 

me,  I  immediately  surrendered  the  whole  of  it  back  to 
him ;  so  that  Sir  Robert,  in  bmiiing  what  he  con- 
sidered my  property,  in  fact  burned  Mr.  Hastings'." 

^'  And  I  have  reason  to  know,  Mi*.  Reilly,  that  it  will 
be  the  blackest  act  of  his  guilty  life.  This,  however,  1 
mention  to  you  in  the  strictest  confidence.  Keep  tlin 
secret,  for  if  it  transpire,  the  scoundrel  might  escaj^e 
from  the  consequences  of  his  diabolical  cruelty  and  op- 
pression. In  the  meantime  do  you  take  care  of  your- 
self; keep  out  of  his  way,  and,  as  I  said,  above  all  things, 
procure  a  disguise  Let  the  consequences  be  what 
they  may,  I  don't  think  the  beautiful  Coleen  Bcuvn  will 
ever  marry  him." 

"  But,"  replied  Reilly,  ''is  there  no  risk  of  compul- 
sion by  her  father  ?" 

"Why,  I  must  confess  there  is,"  replied  the  sheriff; 
''he  is  obstinate  and  headstrong,  especially  if  opposed, 
and  she  will  find  it  necessary  to  oppose  him — and  she 
ivill  oppose  him.  I  myself  have  had  a  conversation 
with  her  on  the  subject,  and  she  is  as  firm  as  fate  against 
such  a  union  ;  and  I  will  tell  you  more,  Reilly — it  was 
she  who  principally  engaged  me  to  protect  you  as  far 
as  I  could,  and  so  I  shall,  you  may  rest  assured  of  it. 
I  had  only  to  name  you  a  few  minutes  ago,  ajid  your 
fate  was  sealed.  But,  even  if  she  had  never  spoken  to 
me  on  the  subject,  I  could  not  lend  myself  to  the  cruel 
plots  of  that  villain.  God  knows,  in  consequence  of 
my  official  situation,  I  am  put  upon  tasks  that  are  very 
painful  to  me  ;  levying  fines  from  men  who  are  harm- 
less and  inoffensive,  who  are  peaceable  members  of 
society,  who  teach  the  people  to  be  moral,  well-con- 
ducted, and  obedient  to  .the  laws,  and  who  do  not  them- 
selves violate  them.  Now,"  he  added,  "be  advised 
by  me,  and  disguise  yourself." 

"  Sir,"  said  Reilly,  "  your  sentiments  do  you  honor;  I 
am  at  this  moment  on  my  way  to  put  on  a  disguise  which 
has  been  procured  for  me.     I  agree  with  you  and  other 


WTLLV    RFJLLY.  239 

friends,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain  in 
the  country  in  my  own  natural  aspect  and  dress.  Al- 
loAV  me,  before  I  go,  to  express  my  sense  of  your  kind- 
ness, and  believe  me,  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

^'  The  disguise  above  all  things,"  said  the  sheriff,  smil- 
ing and  holding  out  his  hand.  Reilly  seized  it,  with  a 
warm  pressure ;  tliey  bade  each  other  farewell,  and  so 
they  parted. 

Reilly  then  wound  his  way  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley, but  not  by  the  public  road.  He  took  across  the 
fields,  and  in  due  time  reached  her  humble  habitation. 
Here  he  found  the  disguise,  which  his  friend  Fergus  had 
provided — a  half -worn  frieze  coat,  a  half- worn  caubeen, 
and  a  half-worn  pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  clouted 
brogues,  and  Connemara  stockings,  also  the  Avorse  for 
the  wear,  with  two  or  three  coarse  shirts,  in  perfect 
keeping  with  the  other  portions  of  the  disguise. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  ''  how  have  you  been 
since  I  saw  you  last?" 

"  0  then,  Mr.  Reilly,"  said  she,  ^^  it's  a  miracle  from 
God  that  you  did  not  think  of  stopping  her^ ;  I  had  sev- 
eral visits  from  the  sogers,  who  came  out  to  look  for 
you." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so,  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  but  it  was  one 
comfort  that  they  did  not  find  me." 

^'  God  be  praised  for  that !"  replied  the  poor  woman, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes ;  "it  would  'a'  broken  my  heart, 
if  you  had  been  catched  in  my  little  place  !" 

"  But,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Reilly,  "  were  there  any- 
plain  clothes  left  for  me  here  f 

"  O  indeed  there  was,  sir,"  she  replied,  '^  and  I  have 
them  safe  for  you ;  but,  in  the  manetime,  I'll  go  out- 
side, and  have  an  eye  about  the  country,  for  somehow 
they  have  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  this  would  be 
a  very  likely  place  to  find  you." 

While  she  was  out,  Reilly  changed  his  dress,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  underwent  such  a  metamorphosis,  that 


240  WILLY    REILLY. 

poor  Mrs.  Buckley,  on  re-entering  the  house  felt  quite 
alarmed. 

"  Heavenly  Fatlier,  my  good  man,  where  did  you 
come  from  ?  I  thought  I  left  Mr. "  Here  she  stop- 
ped, afraid  to  mention  Reilly's  name. 

''Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  Keilly,  "  I 
am  only  changed  in  outward  appearance ;  I  am  your 
true  friend  still ;  and  now  accept  this  for  your  kindness," 
placing  money  in  her  hand. 

"  I  can't  Mr.  Reilly ;  you  are  under  tlie  persecutions, 
and  will  want  all  the  money  you  have,  to  support  your- 
self. Didn't  the  thieves  of  the  devil  burn  you  out  and 
rob  you,  and  how  can  you  get  through  this  wicked  world 
without  money  ^.  keep  it  yourself,  for  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Buckley,  I  have  money  enough  ; 
you  must  take  this ;  I  only  ask  you  to  conceal  these 
clothes  in  someplace  where  the  hell-hounds  of  the  law 
can't  find  them.  And  now,  good-by,  Mrs.  Buckley ;  I 
shall  take  care  of  that,  whatever  may  happen  me,  you 
shall  not  be  disturbed  out  of  your  little  cabin  and  your 
garden." 

The  tears  ran  down  the  poor  old  woman's  cheeks  and 
Eeilly  left  her  sobbing  and  crying  behind  him.  This 
indeed  was  an  eventful  day  to  him.  Strong  in  the  con- 
fidence of  his  disguise,  he  took  the  pul^lic  road,  and 
had  not  gone  far  when  he  met  a  party  of  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft's.  To  fly  would  have  been  instant  ruin  ;  he 
accordingly  commenced  an  old  Irish  song  at  tlie  very 
top  of  his  lungs.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  was  not  liimself 
of  the  party  ;  but  scarcely  any  individual  was  met  by 
them  whom  they  did  not  cross-examine. 

"  Hallo  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  leader  of  the  party, 
^'  what  is  that  you'r'  singin'  ?  " 

Reilly  stared  at  him,  like  a  man  who  was  sorely  puz- 
zled ;  "  Haneil  hearJa  acjuni;^''  that  is,''I  liave  no  English." 

^'  Here,  Connor,  you  can  speak  Irish  ;  sift  tliis  able- 
bodied  tyke." 


WILLY    REILLY.  241 

A  conversation  in  tliat  language  then  took  place  be- 
tween tliem,  wliicli  rendered  everlasting  honor  upon 
Connor,  who,  by  the  way,  was  one  of  Reilly's  tenant's ; 
but  himself  and  his  progenitors  were  Protestants  for 
three  generations.  He  was  a  sharp,  keen  man,  but  gen-  > 
erous  and  honorable,  and  after  two  or  three  glances  at 
our  hero,  at  once  recognized  him.  This  he  could  only 
intimate  by  a  wink,  for  he  knew  that  there  were  other 
persons  tliere  who  spoke  Irish  as  well  aseither  of  them. 
The  dialogue,  however,  was  not  long  neither  was  it 
kind-hearted  Connor's  wish  that  it  should  be  so-  He  was 
asked,  however,  if  he  knew  anything  about  Willy 
Reilly,  to  which  he  replied,  that  he  did  not,  only  by 
all  accounts  he  had  left  the  country.  This,  indeed,  was 
the  general  opinion. 

'^'This  blockhead,"  said  Connor,  ^' knows  nothing 
about  him,  only  what  he  has  heard ;  he's  a  pig  dealer,  and 
\s  now  on  his  way  to  the  fair  of  Sligo  ;  come  on." 

They  passed  onwards,  and  Reilly  resijmed  his  jour- 
ney and  his  song. 

On  reaching  the  farmer's  house  where  he  and  the 
bishop  lodged,  the  unhappy  prelate  felt  rather  annoyed 
at  the  appearance  of  a  stranger,  and  was  about  to  re- 
prove their  host  for  his  carelessness  in  admitting  such 
persons. 

'^  What  do  you  want  here,  my  good  man  ?"  inquired 
the  farmer. 

''  Do  you  wish  to  say  anything  to  me  f  asked  the 
bishop. 

*'  A  few  words,"  replied  Reilly  ;  but,  on  consideration, 
he  changed  his  purpose  of  playing  off  a  good  humored 
joke  on  his  lordship  and  the  farmer „  For  the  melan- 
choly prelate  he  felt  the  deepest  compassion  and  respect, 
aud  apprehended  that  any  tampering  with  his  feelings 
might  be  attended  with  cian;jerous  consequences  to  liis 
intellect.  He  consequently  changed  his  purpose,  and 
added :  ^'  My  Lord  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 


242  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

The  bisliop  looked  at  him,  and  it  was  not  without 
considerable  scrutiny  that  he  recognized  him. 

In  the  meantime,  the  farmer,  who  had  left  the  room 
previous  to  his  explanation,  and  who  looked  upon  Reilly 
as  an  impostor,  or  a  spy,  returned  with  a  stout  oaken 
cudgel,  exclaiming,  ''  Now  you  damned  desaver,  I  will 
give  you  a  jacketful  of  sore  bones  for  comin'  to  pry 
about  here.  This  gintleman  is  a  doctor  ;  three  of  my  fam- 
ily are  lying  ill  of  faver,  and  that  you  may  catch  it  I 
pray  Gorra  this  day  !  but  if  you  won't  catch  that,  you'll 
catch  this,"  and  he  whirled  the  cudgel  about  his  head, 
and  most  unquestionably  it  would  have  descended  on 
Reilly's  cranium,  were  it  not  for  the  bishop,  who  inter- 
posed and  prevented  the  meditated  violence.  . 

^'  Be  quiet,  Kelly,"  said  he,  ''  be  quiet,  sir ;  this  is 
Mr.  Reilly,  disguised." 

^'  Troth,  I  must  look  closely  at  him  first,"  replied 
Kelly  ;  ''who  knows  but  he's  imposin'  upon  you.  Dr. 
Wilson  I " 

Kelly  then  looked  closely  into  his  face  still  holding 
a  firm  grip  of  the  cudgel. 

"  Why,  Kelly,"  said  Reilly,  ''  what  the  deuce  are  you 
at !    Don't  you  know  my  voice,  at  least  I " 

''  AVell,"  replied  Kelly,  ''  bad  luck  to  the  like  o'  that 
ever  I  see.  Holy  Moses,  Mr.  Reilly,  but  you  had  a  nar- 
row escape.  Devil  a  man  in  the  barony  can  handle  a 
cudgel  as  I  can,  and  it  was  a  miracle,  and  you  may 
thank  liis  lordship  here  for  it,  that  you  hadn't  a  shirt- 
ful  of  sore  bones." 

"  Well,  my  dear  friend"  said  Reilly,  "  put  up  your 
cudgel  ;  I  really  don't  covet  a  shirtful  of  sore  bones ; 
but  after  all,  perhaps  you  would  have  found  my  fist  a 
match  for  vour  cudcrel." 

*' Nonsense,"  replied  Kelly;  "but  God  be  praised 
that  you  escaped  the  weltiug,  any  h.ow  ;  I  would  never 
foroive  myself  and  you  the  friend  of  his  lordship." 

He  then   left  the  room,  his  terrific  cudo^el  under  his 


\  WILLY    REILLY.  243 

arm,  and  Reilly,  after  his  absence,  related  to  the  bishop 
the  events  of  the  day,  involving,  as  they  did,  the  two 
narrow  escapes  which  he  had  had.  The  bishop  thanked 
God,  and  told  Reilly  to  be  of  good  conrage,  for  that  he 
thought  the  hand  of  Providence  was  protecting  him. 

The  hfe  they  led  here  was,  at  all  events,  quiet  and 
peaceable.  The  bisho^D  was  a  man  of  singular,  indeed, 
of  apostolic  piety.  He  spent  most  of  the  day  in  medi- 
tation and  prayer,  fasting  beyond  the  power  of  his  en- 
feebled constitution ;  and  indeed  it  was  fortunate  that 
Reilly  had  accompanied  him,  for  so  ascetic  were  his 
habits,  that  were  it  not  for  his  entreaties,  and  the  in- 
fluence which  he  had  gained  over  him,  it  is  not  at  all 
unlikely  that  his  unfortunate  malady  might  have  re- 
turned. The  neighborhood  in  which  they  resided  was, 
as  we  have  said,  remote,  and  exclusively  Catholic;  and 
upon  Sundays  the  bishop  celebrated  Mass  upon  a  little 
grassy  platform — or  rather  in  a  little  cave,  into  which  it 
led.  This  cave  was  small,  barely  large  enough  to  con 
tain  a  table  which  served  as  a  temporary  altar — the 
poor  shivering  congregation  kneeling  on  the  platform 
outside.  At  this  period  of  our  story,  all  the  Catholic 
chapels  and  places  of  worship  were,  as  we  have  said, 
closed  by  proclamation,  and  the  poor  people  were  de- 
prived of  means  of  meeting  to  worship  God.  It  had. 
soon,  however,  become  known  to  them  that  an  oppor- 
tunity of  public  w^orship  was  to  be  had  every  Sunday, 
at  the  place  we  have  described.  Messengers  had  been 
sent  among  them,  with  information  to  that  effect ;  and 
the  consequence  was,  that  they  not  only  kept  the  secret, 
but  flocked  in  considerable  numbers  to  attend  Mass. 
On  the  Sunday  following  the  adoption  of  Reilly's  dis- 
guise, the  bishop  and  he  proceeded  to  the  little  cave,  or 
rather  cleft,  where  a  table  had  been  placed,  together 
Avith  the  vestments  necessary  for  the  ceremony.  They 
found  about  two  or  three  hundred  persons  assembled— 
most   of  them    of  the  humblest    class.     The  day  was 


244  WILLY    REILLY. 

stormy  in  the  extreme.  It  was  a  hard  frost,  and  the  snow, 
besides,  falling  heavily — the  wind  strong,  and  raging  in 
hollow  gusts  about  the  place.  The  position  of  the  table- 
altar,,  how  ever,  saved  the  bishop  and  the  chalice  and 
the  other  matters  necessary  for  the  performance  of  wor- 
ship, from  the  direct  fury  of  the  blast,  but  not  alto- 
gether ;  for  occasionally  a  whirlwind  would  come  up, 
and  toss  over  the  leaves  of  the  missal  in  such  a  way, 
and  with  such  violence,  that  the  bishop,  who  was  now 
trembling  from  the  cold,  was  obliged  to  lose  some  time 
in  finding  out  the  proper  passage.  It  was  a  solemn 
sight  to  see  two  or  three  hundred  persons  kneeling,  and 
bent  in  prostrate  and  heartfelt  adoration,  in  the  pious 
worship  of  that  God  who  sends  and  withholds  the  storm  : 
bareheaded,  too,  under  the  piercing  drift  of  the  thick- 
fallino-  DTanular  snow,  and  thinkino"  of  nothino;'  but  their 
own  sins,  and  that  gladsome  opportunity  of  approach- 
ing the  forbidden  altar  of  God,  now  doubly  dear  to 
them  that  it  ivas  forbidden.  As  the  ceremony  was  pro- 
ceeding, the  bishop  was  getting  on  to  that  portion  of 
the  sacred  rites  where  the  consecration  and  elevation 
of  the  Host  are  necessary,  and  it  was  observed  by  all 
•that  an  extraordinary  and  sudden  lull  took  place,  and 
that  the  rage  of  the  storm  had  altogether  ceased.  He 
proceeded,  and  had  consecrated  the  Host — hoc  est  cor- 
pus meiim — when  a  cry  of  terror  arose  from  the  affright- 
ed congregation. 

'^  My  Lord,  fly  and  save  yourself !  Captain  Smell- 
priest  and  his  gang  are  upon  us." 

The  bishop  never  once  turned  around,  nor  seemed  to 
hear  them  :  but  Reilly  did,  and  saw  that  the  whole 
congregation  had  fled,  and  that  there  only  remained  the 
bishop  and  himself. 

^^Our  day  of  doom,"  said  he  to  himself,  '^  is  come. 
Nothing  now  can   save  us." 

Still  tlie  bishop  proceeded,  undisturbed,  in  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Almighty ;  when,  lo  !    the  military  party, 


WILLY    REILLY.  245 

headed  and  led  on  by  tlie  notorious  Captain  Smellpriest, 
came  tlmndering  uj),  tlie  captiiin  exclaiming: — 

'^  You  idolatrous  Papist,  stop  that  mummery — or  you 
sliall  have  twelve  bullets  in  your  heart  before  half  a 
minute's  time." 

The  bishop  had  consecrated  the  Host,  as  we  have 
said,  but  had  not  yet  liad  time  to  receive  it. 

"Men,"  said  Smellpriest,  ''you  are   all  primed  and 
loaded.     Present." 

They  accordingly  did  so  ;  every  musket  was  levelled 
at  him.  The  bishop  now  turned  round,  and  with  the 
calmness  of  a  martyr — a  calmness  and  conduct  that 
were  sublime — he  said  : 

"  Sir,  I  am  engaged  in  the  worship  of  the  Eternal 
God,  and  if  you  wish  to  shed  my  blood,  I  should 
rather  it  were  here,  and  now,  than  in  any  other  place. 
Give  me  but  a  few  minutes — I  do  not  ask  more." 

"  0,"  said  Smellpriest,  "  we  will  give  ten  if  you  wish 
it,  and  the  more  so  because  we   are  sure  of  you." 

When  the  bishop  turned  around  again,  after  having 
received  the  Host,  his  pale  face  had  altogether  changed 
its  complexion — it  burned  with  an  expression  which  is 
difficult  to  describe.  A  lofty  sense  of  the  sacrifice  he 
was  about  to  make  was  visible  in  his  kindling  and  en- 
thusiastic eye;  his  feeble  frame,  that  had  been,  during 
the  ceremony  of  Mass,  shivering  under  the  effects  of  the 
terrible  storm  that  howled  around  them,  now  became 
firm,  and  not  the  slightest  mark  of  fear  or  terror  was  vis- 
ible in  his  bearing  :  calmly  and  undauntedl}^  he  turned 
round,  and  with  a  voice  full  and  steady,  he  said  : — 

"  I  am  willing  to  die  for  my  religion,  but  I  say  to  you, 
that  the  slaughter  of  an  inoffensive  man,  at  the  foot  of 
God's  altar,  will  not  smooth  the  pillow  of  your  death-bed 
nor  of  those  who  shoot  down  a  minister  of  God,  while  in 
the  act  of  worshipping  his  Creator.  My  congregation, 
poor  timid  creatui-es,  have  fled,  but,  as  for  me,  I  will 
not !  I  dare  not !  Here  now,  I  spread  out  my  arms — ^fire." 


246  WILLY    REILLY. 

"  I  also,"  said  Reilly,  '^  will  partake  of  whatever 
fate  may  befall  the  venerable  clergyman  who  is  before 
you  ; "  and  he  stood  up  side  by  side  with  the  bishop. 

The  guns  were  still  levelled,  the  fingers  of  the  men 
on  the  triggers,  when  Smellpriest  shouted  out,  ''  Ground 

arms  !     By ,"  said  he,    ''  here  is  a  new  case  ;    this 

fellow  has  spunk  and  courage,  and  d — n  me,  although 
I  give  the  priests  a  chase  wherever  I  can,  still  I  am  a 
soldier  and  a  man  of  courage,  and  to  shoot  down  a 
priest  in  the  worship  of  God  would  be  unbecoming  an 
English  soldier.  No,  I  can't  do  it — nor  I  won't ;  d — n 
me,  I  Hke  pluck,  and  this  priest  has  shown  it.     Had  he 

taken  to  his  heels,  by ,  he  would  have  had  half  a 

dozen  bullets  in  his  rear ;  but,  as  I  said,  I  like  pluck, 
and  d — n  me,  we  shall  pass  him  by  this  time.     To  the 

right  about.     As  to  the  clerk,  by ,  he  has  showed 

pluck,  too,  but  be  d — d  to  him,  what  do  we  care  about 
Mm  f  " 

We  must  say  a  word  or  two  here  about  Smellpriest. 
fle  was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  priest-hunter  ; 
but  yet,  with  all  his  bigotry,  he  was  a  brave  man,  and 
could  appreciate  courage  wherever  he  found  it.  The 
reader  already  knows  that  his  range  of  persecution  was 
by  no  means  either  so  wide  or  comprehensive  as  that 
of  the  coward  Whitecraft.  He  was  a  dashing,  outspok- 
en fellow,  with  an  equal  portion  of  boisterous  folly  and 
mischief;  whereas  Whitecraft  was  a  perfect  snake, 
treacherous,  cruel,  persevering  in  his  enmity,  and  unre- 
lenting in  his  vengeance.  Such  was  the  difference  in 
the  character  of  these  two  worthies. 

After  Smellpriest  had  drawn  off  his  men,  the  bishop 
concluded  the  ceremony  of  the  Mass;  but  when  he 
turned  round  to  announce  its  conclusion  in  the  words, 
Ite  missa  est,  there  was  not  a  soul  before  him,  the  terri- 
fied congregation,  as  we  have  said,  having  all  betaken 
themselves  to  flight.  Reilly  then  assisted  him  to  un- 
robe, and  placed  the  vestments,  the  chalice,  pyx,  and 


WILLY    REILLY.  247 

0  very  tiling  connected  with  the  ceremony,  in  a  pair  of 
saddle-bags,  which  belonged  to  the  parish-priest  whose 
altar  was  then  closed,  as  we  said,  by  proclamation. 

Reilly  and  the  bishop  then  proceeded  to  the  farmer's 
house,  Reilly  carrying  the  saddle-bags,  and  as  they  went 
along  the  following  conversation  took  place  between 
them: — 

^'  My  lord,"  said  his  companion,  '^  if  I  might  presume 
to  advise  you,  I  think  it  w^ould  be  more  prudent  for 
you  to  retire  to  the  Continent  for  a  time.  This  fero> 
cious  captain,  who,  subdued  by  the  sublime  tenor  of 
your  conduct,  spared  you  on  this  occasion,  may  not, 
under  other  and  less  impressive  circumstances,  exer- 
cise a  similar  forbearance." 

"  But,  my  dear  Reilly,"  replied  the  bishop,  in  a  tone 
of  deep  melancholy,  "  I  am  not  in  circumstances  to  go 
to  the  Continent;  I  am  poor;  most  of  my  available 
money  I  have  distributed  among  the  unhappy  people, 
until  I  am  now  nearly  as  poor  as  themselves  ;  but  in- 
dependently of  that,  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right 
to  abandon  the  charge  which  God  has  intrusted  to  my 
keeping.  The  shepherd  should  not  desert  his  flock,  es- 
pecially in  the  moment  of  danger,  when  the  wolves  are 
abroad." 

'^  But,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  '^  under  the  present 
circumstances  of  the  country,  your  residence  here  can 
be  of  no  service  to  them.  The  chapels  are  all  closed, 
and  public  worship  forbidden  by  law.  This  cannot, 
and  I  hope,  will  not,  last  long ;  but,  in  the  meantime, 
think  if  it  be  not  wiser  in  you  to  go  for  a  time  into  what 

1  may  call  a  voluntary  exile,  than  be  banished  by  a 
cruel  edict  of  the  law." 

*'  There  is  great  truth  in  w4iat  you  say,  my  dear 
Reilly  ;  and  on  thinking  over  the  circumstances  of  the 
country,  I  am  indeed  of  opinion  that  your  advice  is 
good ;  but,  unfortunately,  my  present  poverty  prevents 
me  from  acting  on  it." 


248  WILLY   REILLY. 

*'  But  that  shall  not  be,  my  lord ;  I  have  the  means 
• — amply,  too — of  enabling  your  lordship  to  withdraw 
to  the  Continent,  where  you  can  remain  quite  safe  un- 
til better  times  return,  as  I  hope  in  God  they  will  soon." 

"  And  yourself,  Reilly  I  Why  not  accompany  me  ! 
You,  it  is  said,  are  outlawed  ;  why,  then,  remain  in  a 
country  where  your  danger  is  still  greater  than  mine!" 

^'  My  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  ^'  do  not  press  me  on  that 
subject." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  Reilly ;  but  here  are  the  cir- 
cumstances :  you  and  the  beautiful  daughter  of  that  old 
squire  are  attached — in  other  w^ords,  you  love  each 
other  passionately.  Now,  3^ou  know,  marriage  is  im- 
possible, unless  you  should  abandon  the  creed  of  your 
fathers." 

^'I  think,  my  lord,"  replied  Reilly,  in  a  ver}^  serious 
and  somewhat  offended  tone,  "  that  my  conduct  this  day, 
and  within  the  last  half-hour,  was  not  tliat  of  a  man 
likely  to  abandon  the  creed  of  his  fathers." 

''  Certainly  not — most  certainly  not,"  replied  the 
bishop.  ''  1  would  have  died  this  day  for  my  religion, 
and  so  would  you." 

^'  And  so  would  I,  certainly,  my  lord,  any  day,  sooner 
than  renounce  it  for  the  love  of  a  woman.  So  far  let 
your  lordship's  mind  be  at  rest.  But  in  the  meantime, 
let  me  impress  upon  your  lordship's  consideration  the  ab- 
solute necessity  of  retiring  to  the  Continent  for  a  time. 
Your  lordship's  charity  has  made  you  poor ;  but,  tliank 
God  I  am  not  poor,  but  in  a  position  to  place  £200  in 
your  hands  to  enable  you  to  bear  the  expenses  of  your 
voyage,  and  to  maintain  your  ecclesiastical  rank  and 
position,  for  a  time,  when  you  get  there." 

"  O,"  replied  tlie  bishop,  '^  if  I  were  once  there,  very 
little  money  w^ould  be  necessary;  I  could  almost  im- 
mediately get  a  professorship  of  divinity,  especially  in  the 
college  of  Louvain,  where  I  held  a  professorship  for  sev^ 
eral  years." 


WILLY    REILLY.  249 

It  was  arranged  that  the  bishop  should  go,  at  least 
until  the  times  should  change,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
week,  Reilly  having  furnished  him  with  the  necessary 
funds,  he  departed,  and  reached  the  Continent  in  safety. 

Their  separation  was  extremely  affecting.  The  bishop 
wept  bitterly,  not  only  in  consequence  of  his  part- 
ing with  Reilly,  but  still  more,  because  he  was  forced 
to  part  with  his  flock.  Reilly  was  deeply  affected,  nor 
could  he  restrain  his  tears.  The  bishop  put  his  liand  on 
his  head,  and  blessed  him.  "  I  feel,"  said  he,  ''  as  if  it 
were  a  prophetic  impulse,  that  God  will  bring  you  out 
of  the  tribulations  that  encompass  you.  Forget  not  his 
Word  nor  his  Law  ;  love  and  adhere  to  your  religion ; 
be  guided  by  its  precepts,  let  them  sink  deeply  into 
your  heart.  Take  cnre,  also,  that  the  love  of  woman 
shall  not  seduce  you  from  your  allegiance  to  our 
Church.  And  now,  may  the  Almighty  God  bless  and 
protect  you,  and  rescue  3'ou  from  the  hands  and  the 
snares  of  your  enemies  !  "     And  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

REILLY   TAKES    SERVICE    WITH    SQUIRE    FOLLIARD. 

Reilly  led  a  melancholy  life  after  the  departure  of 
the  pious  bishop.  A  week,  however,  had  elapsed,  and 
he  felt  as  if  it  had  been  half  a  year.  His  anxiety,  how- 
ever, either  to  see  or  hear  from  his  Coleen  Baiun,  com- 
pletely overcame  him,  and  he  resolved,  at  all  events, 
to  write  to  her ;  in  the  meantime,  how  was  he  to  do 
this  'f  There  was  no  letter-paper  in  tlie  farmer's  house, 
nor  any  to  be  procured  within  miles,  and  under  those 
circumstances  he  resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  Brown. 
After  some  trouble  he  was  admitted  to  the  presence  of 
that  gentleman,  who  would  scarcely  satisfy  himself  that 


250  WILLY    REILLY. 

he  actually  was  Willy  Reilh^ ;  but  at  length  he  felt 
satisfied,  and  asked  him  into  the  study. 

*'  My  dear  Reilly,"  said  he,  '^  I  think  you  are  infat- 
uated. I  thought  you  had  been  out  of  the  country 
long  before  this.  Why,  in  heaven's  name,  do  you  re- 
main in  Ireland,  when  you  know  the  difficulty  of  es- 
cape ?  I  have  had,  since  I  saw  you  last,  two  or  three 
domiciliary  visits  from  Whitecraft  and  his  men,  who 
searched  my  whole  house  and  premises  in  a  spirit  of 
insolence  that  was  most  indelicate  and  offensive.  Has- 
tings and  I  have  sent  a  memorial  to  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant, signed  by  some  of  the  most  respectable  Protestant 
gentry  in  the  country,  in  which  we  stated  his  tyranny 
and  his  oppression  of  his  Majesty's  subjects- — harmless 
and  loyal  men,  and  whom  he  pursues  with  unsatiable 
vengeance,  merely  because  they  are  Roman  Catholics. 
I  certainly  do  not  expect  that  our  memorial  will  be  at- 
tended to  by  this  administration.  There  is  a  report, 
however,  that  the  present  Ministry  will  soon  go  out, 
and  be  succeeded  by  one  more  liberal." 

"  Well,"  replied  Reilly,  ^'  since  I  saw  you  last,  I  have 
had  some  narrow  escapes ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  know  me  in  my  present  disguise." 

''  I  grant  that,  "  said  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  but  then,  is  there 
nothing  to  be  apprehended  from  treachery  ?  " 

'^  I  think  not,"  replied  the  other.  '^  There  is  only  the 
farmer  and  his  family,  with  whom  the  bishop  and  I 
stopped,  who  are  aware  of  my  disguise,  and  to  that 
number  I  must  now  add  ^^ourself " 

*'Well,"  replied  Mr,  Brown,  smiling,  ''I  do  not 
think  you  have  much  to  apprehend  from  me." 

^'No,"  said  Reilly,  ^'you  have  given  me  too  many 
substantial  proofs  of  your  confidence  for  tliat.  But  I 
wish  to  write  a  letter,  and  I  have  neither  pen,  ink,  nor 
paper :  will  you  be  good  enough  to  allow  me  the  use 
of  your  study  for  a  few  minutes,  and  your  writing 
materials  I  " 


WILLY    KEILLY.  251 

The  excellent  clerg-yman  immediately  conducted  him 
to  the  study,  and  placed  the  materials  before  him  with 
his  own  hands  ;  alter  whicli  he  left  the  room.  Reilly 
then  sat  down,  and  penned  the  following  letter  to  his 
dear  Coleen  Baivn  : — 

"  I  am  now  thoroughly  disguised,  indeed  so  effectu- 
ally, that  my  nearest  and  dearest  friends  could 
not  know  me ;  nay,  I  question  whether  even  you 
yourself  would,  except  by  the  keen  intuition  of  af- 
fection, which  is  said  to  penetrate  all  disguises,  unless 
those  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy.  These,  however, 
are  disguises  I  have  never  worn,  nor  ever  shall  wear 
— either  to  you  or  any  human  being.  I  had  intended 
to  go  to  the  Continent  until  this  storm  of  persecution 
might  blow  over ;  but  on  reflection  I  changed  my  pur- 
pose, for  I  could  not  leave  you  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
ensnared  in  the  subtle  and  treacherous  policy  of  that 
villain.  It  is  my  intention  to  visit  your  father's  house 
and  to  see  you  if  I  can.  You  need  not,  for  the  sake  of 
my  safety,  object  to  this,  because  no  one  can  know  me. 
The  description  of  my  dress,  though  somewhat  undig- 
nified, I  must  give  you.  In  the  first  place,  then,  I  am, 
to  all  outward  appearance,  as  rude-looking  a  countr}^ 
lout  as  ever  you  looked  upon.  My  disguise  consists, 
first  of  a  pair  of  brogues,  embroidered  with  clouts,  or 
what  is  vulgarly  denominated  patches,  out  of  the  point 
of  one  of  which — that  of  the  right  foot — nearly  half  of 
my  foot  visibly  projects.  The  stockings  are  coarse 
Connemaras,  with  sufficient  air  holes,  both  in  feet  and 
legs,  to  admit  the  pure  atmosphere  and  strengthen  the 
muscular  system.  My  small  clothes  are  corduroys, 
bouerht  from  a  hard-workino-  laborer,  with  a  larg^e 
patch  upon  each  knee.  A  tailor,  however,  has  pro- 
mised to  get  some  buttons  for  them  and  sew  them  on. 
The  waistcoat  is  altogether  indescribable  ;  because,  as 
its  materials  seem  to  have  been  rescued,  that  is,  stolen, 
from  all  the  scarecrows  in  the  country,  I  am  unable  to 


252  WILLY    REILLY. 

come  at  the  first  fabric.     The  coat  itself  is  beautifully 
variegated — its  patches    consisting  of  all  the   colors  of 
the  rainbow,  with  two  or  three    dozen  that   never  ap- 
peared in  that  beautiful  phenomenon.     But  what  shall 
I  say  of  the  pediment,  or  caubeen,    which  is  a  perfect 
gem  of  its  kind  ?     The  villain  who  wore  it,  I  have  been 
told  by  the   person  who  acted  as   factor  for   me  in  its 
purchase,  was  one  of  the  most  quarrelsome  rascals  in 
Ireland,    and  seldom  went   without  a  black   eye,  or  a 
broken  pate.     This,  I  suppose,  accounts  for  the  droop 
in  the  leaf,  which  covers  the  left  e3^e  so  completely,as  well 
as  for  the  ventilator,  which  so  admirably  refreshes  the 
head  and  allows  the  rain  to  come   in  so  abundantly  to 
cool  it.     I  cannot  help  reflecting,  however,  on  the  fate 
of  those  who  have  nothing  better  to  wear,  and  of  the  hard 
condition  which  dooms  them  to  it.     And  now,  my  be- 
loved Cohen  Baivn,   whilst  I  have   thus  endeavored  to 
make  you  smile,  I  assure  you  I  have  exaggerated  very 
little.     This  dress,    you   know,  is  precisely  that  of  a 
wretched   Connaught-man,    looking  for   employment. 
The  woman  who  will,  through  our  confidant,  Lanigan, 
deliver  this  to  you,  is  a  poor,    faitliful  creature,  a  pen- 
sioner of  mine,  who  may  be  trusted.     Appoint  through 
her  a  day  and  an  hour,  when,  as  a  man  seeking  for  la- 
bor, I  will  stand  at  the  hall  door,     I  am  quite  satisfied 
that  neither  your  father  nor  the  villain  will  know  me 
from  Adam,     The  woman  who  is  to  bring  this  will  call 
on  the  second  day  after  its  delivery,  and  I  shall  be 
guided  by  whatever  message  you  may  send  me.     On 
one  thing,  however,  I  am  determined,  which  is,  that  if 
it  should  cost  me  my  life,  1  will  prevent  the  meditated 
marriage  between  you  and  him.     Sooner  than  such  an 
event   should  take   place,  I  would  put  a  pistol   to  his 
head  and  blow  his  guilty  soul  into  that  perdition  which 
awaits  it.     Don't  write  ;  let  your  message  be  verbal." 


WILLY    REILLY.  253 

On  going"   to  Widow   Buckley's,  he   learned — after 
some  trouble  in  identifying  himself — that  she  had  had 
several  visits  from  Sir  Eobert  and  his  men,  at  all  hours, 
botli  by  night  and  day.     He  therefore  hastily  gave  her 
the  necessary  instructions   how  to   act,  and,  above  all 
things,  to  ask  to  see  Lanigan,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring 
some    eggs  or  chickens  for  sale,    which  fact,    he  said, 
would  give  a  color  to  her  appearance  there,  and  pre- 
vent the  possibility  of  any  suspicion.     Having  placed 
the  letter  in  her  keeping,  together  with  some  silver  to 
enable  her  to  purchase  either  the  eggs  or  the  chickens, 
in  case  she  had  them  not  herself,  he  then  returned  to 
the  farmer's,  where  he   remained  quietly   and  without 
disturbance  of  any  kind  until  the  third  day,  when  Wid- 
ow Buckley  made   her  appearance.     He  brought  her 
out  to  the  garden,  because  in    discussing  matters   con- 
nected with  his  Coleen  Baivn  he  did  not  wish  that  even 
the  farmer's  family  should  be    auditors — although  we 
may  say  here,  that  not  only  were  the  loves  of  Willy 
Reilly  and  Coleen  Baivn  known  to   the  farmer  and  his 
family,  but   also  to  the    whole    country,  and,  indeed, 
througli  the  medium  of  ballads,  to  the  greater  portion 
of  the  kingdom. 
'^  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  he,  ''  did  you  see  her  !  " 
''  0  bad  scran  to  you,    Mr.  Reilly  !  you're  the  very 
sarra  among  the  girls,  when  you   could  persuade  that 
lovely  creature  to  fall   in  love  with   you — and   you  a 
Catholic  an'  her  a  Protestant !  May  I  never  if  I  think 
there'ri  her  aquil  out  o'  heaven  !  Devil  an  angel  I  think 
in  it  could  hould  a  candle  to  her  for  beauty  and  figure. 
She  only  wants  the  wings,  sir — for  they  say  that  all  the 
angels  have  wings  ;  and  upontny  conscience,  if  she  had 
them  I  know  the  man  she'd  ^j  to  ! " 

"  But  what   happened,  Mrs.  Buckley?" 
^'  Why,  I  sould  some  chickens  and  eggs  to  the  cook, 
who  at  wanst  knew  me,  because  I  had  often  sould  him 
chickens  and  eggs  before.    He  came  up  to  the  hall  door, 


254  WILLY    REILLY. 

and — ^  Well,  Mrs.  Buckley,'  says  he,  '  what's  the  news  V 
'  Be  dhe  Jiusth,^  says  I,  '  before  I  sell  you  the  chickens, 
let  me  ax  is  the  Coleen  Baivn  at  home  f  '  '  She  is,'  says  he, 
lookin'  me  sharp  and  straight  in  the  face ;  '  do  you  want 
herT  '  I  would  like  to  see  her,'  says  I,  '  for  a  minute 
or  two.'  ^  Ay,'  says  he,  back  agin  to  me,  '  you  have  a 
message — and  you  know  besides  that  she  never  buys 
chickens  ;  that's  my  business.'  ^  But,'  says  I,  back  agin, 
*  I  was  told  by  Mm  that  you  were  faithful,  and  could 
be  depended  on.'  ^  Ay,'  says  he  ;  ^  but  I  thought  he  had 
left  the  country.'  '  Troth  then,'  says  I,  '  hq's  to  the  fore 
still,  and  won't  lave  the  counthry  till  he  sees  her  wanst 
more,  at  all  events.'  '  Have  you  a  letther  f  '  B  ether  shin,'' 
says  I — *  could  3"ou  let  me  see  her ;  for  he  tould  me  to 
say  to  her  that  she  is  not  to  indite  letthers  to  him,  for 
fraid  of  discovery.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  as  the  master's 
at  home,  I'll  have  some  difficulty  in  spakin'  to  her.  Dev- 
il a  move  she  gives  but  he  watches  ;  and  we  got  a  new 
servant  the  other  day,  and  devil  a  thing  she  is  but  a  spy 
from  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  and  some  people  say  that 
her  masther  and  she  forgot  the  Gospel  between  them.' 
Indeed,  I  believe  that^s  pretty  well  known  ;  and  isn't  he 
a  d — d  blackguard,  to  send  a  cast-off  wench  and  vaga- 
bond to  attend  and  be  about  the  very  woman  that  he 
expects  to  be  his  own  wife  !  " 

"Don't  be  so  particular  in  your  description,  Mrs. 
Buckley,"  said  Reilly.  ''  Did  you  see  the  Coleen 
Baivn  !  " 

"  Look  at  that,"  she  replied,  opening  her  hand,  and 
showing  him  a  golden  guinea — "  don't  3"ou  know  by 
that  that  I  seen  her ;  but  you  must  let  me  go  on  my 
own  way.  'Well,'  says  Lanigan,  the  cook,  '  I  must  go 
and  see  what  I  can  do '  He  then  went  up-stairs,  and 
contrived  to  give  her  a  hint,  and  that  was  enough.  The 
Lord  bless  us,  Mr.  Reilly,  what  won't  love  do  I  This 
girl — as  Lanigan  tould  me — that  the  villain,  White- 
craft,  had  sent  as  a  spy  upon  her   actions,  was  desired 


WILLY    REILLY.  255 

to  go  to  her  wardrobe,  to  pick  out  from  among  lier  beau- 
tiful dresses  one  that  she  had  promised  her  as  a  present 
some  days  before.  The  cook  had  this  from  the  girl  her- 
self, who  was  the  sarra  for  dress;  but  anyhow,  while 
the  she  spy  was  tumbling  about  Coleen  Baivn^s  dresses, 
the  darlin'  herself  whipped  down- stairs,  and  coming  to 
me  says,  'The  cook  tells  me  you  have  a  message  for  me.' 
Jist  at  this  moment,  and  after  she  had  slipped  the  letter 
into  her  bosom,  her  father  turns  a  corner  lound  the  gar- 
den, and  seeing  his  daughter,  which  was  a  very  unusual 
thing,  in  conversation  with  a  person  like  myself,  he  took 
the  alarm  at  once.  '  How,  Helen,  who  is  this  you  are 
speaking  to  ?  No  go-between,  I  hope  I  Who  are  you, 
you  blasted  old  she- whelp  f  '  She- whelp--— she-whelp 
in  your  teeth.     I  am  no  more  a  she-whelp   than  you 

are.'  '  By then  may  be  you  are  a  he  one  in  disguise. 

What  brought  you  here  V  '  Here  !  I  came  to  sell  my 
eggs  and  my  chickens,  as  I  done  for  years.'  '  Your  eggs 
and  your  chickens  !  d — n  you,  you  old  Jezebel,  did  you 
ever  lay  the  eggs,  or  hatch  the  chickens  ?  And  if  you 
did,  why  not  produce  the  old  cock  himself  in  attestation 
of  the  truth  of  what  you  assert  ?  I'll  have  you  searched 
though,  in  spite  of  your  eggs  and  chickens.  Here,' he 
said,  to  one  of  the  footmen  who  was  passing  through 
the  hall — '  here  Jones,  send  up  Lanigan,  till  we  see 
whether  he  knows  this  old  fagot,  who  has  the  assurance 
to  tell  me  that  she  lays  eggs  and  hatches  chickens.' 
When  Lanigan  came  up  again,  he  looked  at  me  as  at  an 
ould  acquaintance,  which,  in  point  of  fact,  we  were. 
'  Why,  your  honor,'  said  he,  '  this  is  a  poor  honest 
creature  that  has  been  selling  us  eggs  and  chickens  for 
many  years.'  '  She  wouldn't  be  a  go-between,  Lanigan 
— eh  ?  What's  your  name,  you  old  fagot — eh  f  '  My 
name  is  Scrahag,  your  honor,'  says  I,  '  one  of  the 
Scrahags  of  Ballycumpiatee — an  honest  and  dacint 
family,  sir  ;  but  if  your  honor  would  buy  the  eggs,  at 
any  rate,  and  hatch  them  yourself,'  says  I  to  him,"  (for 


256  WILLY    REILLY. 

she  had  a  large  stock  of  Irish  humor,  ''  *  you  know, 
sir,  you  could  have  the  chickens  at  first  cost.'  '  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !'  and  the  squire  laughed  till  he  nearly  split  his  sides ; 

'  by I'm  hit' — God  pardon  me  for  repaitin'  his  oaths 

' — '  Here  Lanigan,  bring  her  dpwn  to  the  kitchen,  and 
^  give  her  a  fog  meal.'  ^  I  understand  you,  sir,'  said 
Lanigan,  smiling  at  him.  ^  Yes,  Lanigan,  give  her  a 
cargo  of  the  best  in  the  pantry.  She's  a  shrewd  and 
comical  old  blade,'  said  he  ;  ^  give  her  akegful  of  beef, 
or  mutton,  or  both,  and  a  good  swill  of  ale  or  porter,  or 
whatever  she  prefers.  Curse  me,  but  I  give  the  old 
whelp  credit  for  the  hit  she  gave  me.  Pay  her  besides 
whatever  she  asks  for  her  eggs  and  chickens.  Here, 
you  bitter  old  randletree,  there  are  three  thirteens  for 
you  ;  and  if  you  will  go  down  to  the  kitchen  with  the 
cook,  he  will  give  you  a  regular  skinful'  The  cook, 
knowing  that  the  Coleen  Bawn  wished  to  send  some 
message  back  to  you,  sir,  brought  me  down,  and  gave 
me  not  merely  plenty  to  ait  and  drink,  but  stuffed  the 
praskeen  that  I  had  carried  the  eggs  and  chickens  in 
with  as  much  could  meat  and  bread  as  it  could  con- 
tain." 

"Well,  but  did  you  see  her  afterwards?  and  did  she 
send  no  message  V 

"  Only  two  or  three  words;  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
at  two  o'clock,  come  to  look  for  labor,  and  she  will 
contrive  to  see  you." 

This  was  enough,  and  Reilly  did  not  allow  his  an- 
bassadress  to  leave  him  without  substantial  marks  of 
'  his  bounty,  also. 

When  the  old  squire  went  to  his  study,  he  desired 
the  gardener  to  be  sent  for,  and  when  tliat  individual 
entered,  he  found  his  master  in  a  towering  passion. 

*'  What  is  the  reason,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "  that  the 
garden  is  in  sucli  a  shameful  state  ?  I  declare  to  God 
it  is  scandalous." 

*'  Ou,  your  honor,"  replied    Malcomson,   who  was  a 


WILLY   REILLY.  257 

Scotchman,  ^'e'en  because  you  will  no  allow  me  an  un- 
dergerdener.  No  one  man  could  manage  your  garden, 
and  it  canna  be  managed  without  some  clever  chiel  wha 
understands  the  sceence." 

"  The  what  '1  " 

"The  sceence,  your  honor." 

"  Why,  confound  you,  sir,  what  science  is  necessary 
in  gardening  ?  " 

"  I  tell  your  honor  that  the  management  of  a  gerden 
requires  baith  skeel  and  knowledge  and  feelosophy." 

"Why,  confound  you,  sir,  again,  what  kind  of  doc- 
trine is  thisf  " 

"It's  vara  true  doctrine,  sir  You  have  large  and 
spacious  greenhooses,  and  I  wad  want  some  one  to  as- 
sist me  wha  understands  buttony." 

"  Buttony — buttony — why,  confound  you,  sirrah, 
send  for  a  tailor,  then,  for  he  understands  buttony." 

"  I  see  your  honor  is  detarmined  tQ  indulge  in  a  joc- 
ular spirit  the  day.  The  truth  is,  your  honor,  I  hae  no 
men  to  assist  me  but  common  laborers,  who  are  a'the- 
gether  ignorant  of  gerdening;  now,  if  I  had  a  man  who 
could  direct  the  operations " 

''  Operations  !  curse  your  Scotch  impudence ;  do  you 
think  yourself  a  general  I" 

"  Na,  na,  sir ;  but  a  better  man ;  and  I  tell  ye  that  I 
winna  remain  in  your  service  unless  I  get  an  assistant ; 
and  I  say  that,  if  it  werena  for  the  aid  of  Miss  Folliard, 
I  wouldna  hae  been  able  to  keep  the  greenhoose  e'en  in 
its  present  state.  She  has  trailed  the  Passion  Flower 
wi'  her  ain  hands  until  it  is  flourishing.  Then  slie  has 
a  beautiful  little  crop  of  Forget-me-nots ;  but  above  a', 
it  wad  do  your  honor's  heart  gude  to  see  the  beautiful 
bed  she  has  of  Love-lies-bleeding." 

"Ay,  ay!  Love-lies-bleeding;  no  doubt,  but  she'll 
take  care  of  that.  AVell,  go  and  get  an  under-gardener 
wherever  you  can,  and  let  my  garden  be,  at  all  events, 
such  as  a   stranger  can  walk  through,  and  such  as  be- 


258  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

comes  my  name  and  property.  Engage  such  a  person, 
give  him  whatever  you  consider  fair  wages,  and  tlie 
house  steward  will  pay  him  weekly.  These  are  mat- 
ters I  can't  trouble  myself  with  now — I  have  other 
things  to  think  of" 

On  the  day  mentioned  in  Coleen  Baton's  message, 
Reilly  hazarded  a"visit  to  the  squire's  house,  and  after 
giving  a  single  knock,  begged  to  see  the  cook.  The 
porter,  having  looked  at  him  with  the  usual  contempt 
which  menials  of  his  class  bestow  upon  poor  persons, 
went  down  to  the  kitclien,  w^ith  a  great  deal  of  reluc- 
tance, and  told  the  cook,  with  a  grin,  that  one  of  his 
relations  wanted  to  see  him. 

"  Well,"  replied  Lanigan,  who  had  been  made  awafe 
of  the  intended  visit ;  ''  it's  wonderful,  in  these  hard 
times,  the  number  of  reduced  families  that's  going  about. 
What  kind  of  a  gentleman  is  he,  John  ?  because  I  am 
very  busy  now.  To  be  sure  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
cold  vittles  left  that  would  be  lost  and  destroyed  if  we 
didn't  give  them  to  the  poor  ;  and  you  know  the  mas- 
ther,  who  is  a  charitable  man,  desired  us  to  do  so.  I'll 
go  up  and  see  Avhat  the  poor  devil  wants." 

He  accordingly  went  up  to  the  hall  door  and  found 
Reilly  there.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  he  had  been 
already  apprised  of  Reilly's  disguise.  It  was  so  com- 
plete that  he  did  not  know  him  ;  his  beard  was  half  an 
inch  long  and,  besides,  Reilly,  knowing  the  risk  lie  ran 
in  his  daring  adventure,  had  discolored  his  complexion 
with  some  wash  that  oave  it  the  tino^e  of  mulatto.  The 
cook  was  thunderstruck. 

''  Well,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  not  in  the  slightest 
degree  recognizing  Reilly,  'Svhat  doyou  want  with  mef" 

"  Lanigan,"  replied  Reilly,  "  don't  you  know  mef 

*'  Know  3"ou  !  how  the  devil  should  I  know  3^ou?  I 
never  saw  you  before  ;  what  do  you  want  with  me  *? " 

"Lanigan,"  whispered  the  other,  'Wlid  you  never 
hear  of  Willy  Reilly  r 


WILLY    KEILLY.  259 

^' Yes,  I  did  ;  have  you  any  message  from  himf 

**  I  am  the  man  myself,"  said  Reilly  ;  ^'  but  you  don't 
know  me,  I  am  so  completely  disguised.  Don't  you 
know  my  voice  f 

"Merciful  Father!"  said  the  cook,  "I'm  in  a  dol- 
drum ;  can  I  be  sure  that  you  don't  come  from  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft,  the  notorious  blackguard?" 

"  Lanigan  1  am  Willy  Reilly ;  my  voice  ought  to 
tell  you  so ;  but  I  wish  to  see  and  speak  with  my  dear 
Coleen  Baivn.'''' 

"  0  my  God  !  sir,"  replied  Lanigan,  "  but  this  love 
makes  strange  transmigrations !  She  won't  know  you, 
sir." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  point,"  replied  Reilly, 
*'  only  let  her  know  that  I  am  here." 

"Come  down  to  the  kitchen,  then,  sir,  and  I  shall 
put  you  into  the  servants'  hall,  which  branches  off  it. 
It  is  entered,  besides,  by  a  different  door  from  that  of 
the  kitchen,  and  while  you  stay  there — and  you  can 
pass  into  it  without  going  through  the  kitchen — I  will 
try  to  let  her  know  where  you  are.  She  has,  at  present, 
a  maid  who  was  sent  by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  she 
is  nothing  else  than  a  spy ;  but  it'll  go  hard  or  I'll 
baffle  her." 

He  accordingly  placed  Reilly  in  the  servants'  hall, 
and  on  liis  way  to  the  drawing-room  met  Miss  Folliard 
going  to  her  own  apartment,  which  commanded  a  view 
of  the  front  of  the  house.  He  instantly  communicated 
to  her  the  fact  of  Reilly's  presence  in  the  servants' 
hall. 

"  But,"  added  Lanigan,  "  you  won't  know  him — his 
own  mother,  if  she  was  livin',  wouldn't  know  a  bone  in 
his  body." 

"0,"  she  replied,  whilst  her  eyes  flashed  fearfully, 
in  fact,  in  a  manner  that  startled  the  cook  ;  "  0,  if  he 
is  there  1  shall  soon  know  him — he  has  a  voice,  I  think  ! 
lie  has  a  voice  !  Has  he  not,  Lanigan  ?  " 


260  WILLY    REILLY. 

^^  Yes  ma'am,"  replied  Lanigan  ;  ^^  he  has  a  voice,  and 
a  heart  too." 

^'Oyes,  yes,  ".she  said, ''I  must  go  to  him;  they 
want  to  maiiy  me  to  that  monster,  to  that  bigot  and 
persecutor,  on  this  very  day  month  ;  but,  Lanigan,  it 
shall  never  be ;  death  a  thousand  times  sooner  tlian 
such  a  union.  Heaven  and  hell  may  unite  in  marriage, 
but  we  never  shall.  If  they  attempt  to  bind  us,  death 
shall  cut  the  link  asunder;  that  I  promise  you,  Lanigan. 
But  I  must  go  to  him — I  must  go  to  him." 

She  ran  down  the  stairs  as  she  spoke,  and  Lanigan, 
having  looked  after  her,  seemed  deeply  concerned. 

''Good  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  will  become  of 
that  sweet  girl  if  she  is  forced  to  marry  that  weaUhy 
scoundrel  I  I  declare  to  my  God  I  hardly  think  she  is 
this  moment  in  her  proper  senses.  There's  a  fire  in  her 
eyes,  and  something  in  her  manner,  that  I  never  ob- 
served before.  At  all  events,  I  have  locked  the  door 
that  opens  from  the  kitchen  into  the  servants'  hall,  so 
that  they  cannot  be  interrupted  from  that  quarter." 

When  Coleeii  Baivn  entered  she  shrank  back  instinc- 
tively. The  disguise  was  so  complete  that  she  could 
not  impose  even  on  her  imagination  or  her  senses. 
The  complexion  was  different',  in  fact  quite  sallow ;  the 
beard  long,  and  the  costume  such  as  we  have  described 
it.  There  was,  in  fact,  something  extremely  ludicrous 
in  the  meeting.  Here  was  an  elegant  and  beautiful 
3"oung  woman  of  fashion  almost  ready,  as  it  were,  to 
throw  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  common  pauper,  with 
a  beard  upon  him  better  than  half  an  inch  long.  As  it 
was,  she  stopped  suddenly,  and  retreated  a  step  or  two, 
saying,  as  she  did  so : — 

"  This  must  be  some  mistake.     Who  are  you  ?" 

"Helen!'' 

"  Reilly  !  0  that  voice  has  set  all  right.  But,  my 
God,  who  could  know  yoa  in  this  disguise  ?" 

They  approached,  and  Reilly,  seizing  her  hand,  said, 


WILLY    KEILLY.  261 

*^  I  will  shake  hands  with  you  ;  but  until  this  disguise 
is  off  I  would  consider  it  sacrilege  to  approacii  nearer 
to  your  person." 

"  No  disguise  can  ever  shut  you  out  from  my  heart, 
dear  Reilly  ;  but  what  is  to  be  done  I  I  have  discover- 
ed, by  one  of  my  maids,  who  overheard  my  father  say, 
in  a  sliort  soliloquy — '  Well,  thank  God,  she'll  be  Sir 
Robert's  wife  within  a  month,  and  then  my  mind  will 
be  easy  at  last.'  0  I'm  glad  you  did  not  leave  this 
country.  But,  as  1  said,  what  is  to  be  done  I  What 
will  become  of  us  !  " 

"  Under  our  peculiar  circumstances,"  replied  Reilly, 
^'  the  question  cannot,  for  the  present  at  least,  be  an- 
swered. As  for  leaving  the  country,  I  might  easily 
have  done  it,  but  I  could  not  think  of  leaving  you  to 
the  snares  and  windings  of  that  villain.  I  declare 
solemnly,  I  would  rather  die  than  witness  a  union  be- 
tween you  and  him." 

*'But  what,  think  you,  should  I  feel?  You  would 
be  only  a  spectator  of  the  sacrifice,  whereas  I  should 
be  the  victim." 

'^  Do  not  be  cast  down,  my  love :  whilst  I  have  life, 
and  a  strong  arm,  it  shall  never  be.  Before  I  go  I 
shall  make  arrangements  with  Lanigan  when  and  where 
to  see  you  again." 

'^  It  will  be  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,"  she  replied, 
^'  for  I  am  now  under  the  strictest  surveillance.  I  am 
told,  and  I  feel  it,  that  Whitecraft  has  placed  a  spy 
upon  all  my  motions." 

^'  How  is  that  ?  inquired  Reilly.  ''  Are  you  not 
under  the  protection  of  your  father,  who,  when  occasion 
is  necessary,  has  both  pride  and  spirit  1 " 

''But  my  poor  credulous  father  is,  notwithstanding, 
easily  imposed  on.  I  know  not  exactly  the  particulars," 
replied  the  lovely  girl,  "  but  I  can  easily  suspect  them. 
My  father  it  was,  certainly,  who  discharged  my  last 
maid,  because,  he  said,  he  did  not  like  her,  and  because, 


262  WILLY    REILLY. 

he  said,  he  would  put  a  better  and  more  trustworthy 
one  m  her  phice.  I  cannot  move  that  she  is  not  either 
with  me  or  after  me  ;  nay,  I  cannot  write  a  note,  that 
she  does  not  immediately  acquaint  papa,  who  is  certain 
to  stroll  into  my  apartment  and  ask  to  see  the  contents 
of  it,  adding — '  Helen,  when  a  young  lady  of  rank  and 
property  forms  a  clandestine  and  disgracef  id  attachment, 
it  is  time  that  her  father  should  be  on  the  lookout ;  so 
I  will  just  take  the  liberty  of  throwing  my  eye  over 
this  little  hillet-doux!'  I  tojd  him  often  that  he  was  at 
liberty  to  inspect  every  line  I  should  write,  but  that  I 
thought  very  few  parents  would  express  such  want  of 
confidence  in  their  daughters,  if,  like  me,  the  latter  had 
deserved  such  confidence  at  their  hands  as  I  did  at  his." 

"What  is  the  name  of  your  present  maid?"  asked 
lleilly,  musing. 

.  '^0,"  replied  Miss  FoUiard,  "  I  have  three  maids  all 
together,  but  she  has  been  installed  as  oivn  maid.  Her 
name  is  Eliza  Herbert." 

"  A  native  of  England ;  is  she  not  ?  Sacred  Heaven !" 
he  exclaimed,  "'  in  the  lowermost  depths  of  perdition 
there  is  not  such  a  villain.  This  Eliza  Herbert  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  one  of  his — but  I  w  illnot 
pain  your  pure  and  delicate  mind  by  mentioning  at 
further  length  what  she  is  and  was  to  him.  The  clergy- 
man of  the  parish,  Mr.  Brown,  knows  the  whole  circum- 
stances. See  him  at  church  and  get  him  to  commu- 
nicate them  to  your  father.  The  fact  is,  this  villain,  who 
is  at  once  cunning  and  parsimonious,  had  a  double 
motive,  each  equally  base  and  diabolical,  in  sending 
her  here.  In  the  first  place,  he  wished,  by  getting  her 
a  good  place,  to  make  your  father  the  unconscious 
means  of  rewarding  her  profligacy ;  and  in  the  second, 
of  keeping  her  a  spy  upon  you." 

A  blush,  resulting  from  her  natural  sense  of  deli- 
cacy, as  well  as  from  the  deepest  indignation  at  a  man 
who  did  not   scruple  to  place    the   woman  whom   he 


WILLY    REILLY.  26 


looked  upon  as  almost  immediately  to  become  his  wife, 
ill  the  society  of  such  a  polluted  wretch  ;  such  a  blush, 
we  say,  overspread  her  whole  neck  and  face,  and  for 
about  two  minutes  she  shed  bitter  tears.  But  she  felt 
the  necessity  of  terminating  their  interview,  from  an 
ispprehension  that  Miss  Herbert,  as  she  was  called,  on 
not  finding  her  in  the  room,  might  institute  a  search  ; 
and  in  this  she  was  not  mistaken.  She  had  scarcely 
concluded  when  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss  Herbert  was 
heard,  as  she  rushed  rapidly  down  the  stairs,  screaming, 
"  0  la!  0  dear  me  !  O  my  goodness  !  Where,  where — 

0  bless  me,  did  any  one  see  Miss  Folliard  f 
Lanigan,  however,  had  prepared  for  anything  like  a 

surprise.  He  planted  himself,  as  sentinel,  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  and  the  moment  he  heard  the  alarm  of 
Miss  Herbert  on  her  way  down,  he  met  her  half-way 
up,  after  having  given  a  loud  significant  cough. 

*'  0  cook,  have  you  seen  Miss  Folliard  ?  I  can't  find 
her  in  the  house  !" 

''Is  her  father  in  his  study,  Miss  Herbert?  because 

1  want  to  see  him  ;  I'm  afeard  there's  a  screw  loose. 
I  did  see  Miss  Folliard  ;  she  went  out  a  few  minutes 
ago — indeed,  she  rather  stole  out  towards  the  garden, 
and  to  tell  you  the  truth  she  had  a  condemned  look 
(  f  her  own.  Try  the  garden,  and  if  you  don't  find  her 
there,  go  to  the  back  gate,  which  you'll  be  apt  to  find 
open." 

"01  will,  I  will ;  thank  you,  cook.  I'm  certain  it  is 
an  elopement." 

''  Indeed,  I  wouldn't  be  susprised  to  find,"  replied 
Lanigan,  "that  she  is  with  Reilly  this  moment ;  any- 
way, 3'ou  haven't  a  minute  to  lose.  ' 

She  started  towards  the  garden,  which  she  ran  over 
and  over ;  and  there  we  shall  leave  her  executing  the 
fool's  errand  upon  whicli  Lnniganhad  sent  her.  "  Now," 
said  he,  going  in,  "  tlie  coast's  clear;  I  have  sent  that 
impertinent  jade  out  to  the  garden,  and  as  the  back- 


264  WILLY    REILLY. 

gate  is  open — the  gardener's  men  are  wheeling  out  the 
rubbish — and  they  are  now  at  dinner — I  say,  as  the 
back  gate  is  open,  it's  ten  to  one  but  she'll  scour  the  coun- 
try. Now,  Miss  Folliard,  go  immediately  to  your  own 
room  ;  as  for  this  poor  man,  I  will  take  care  of  him. " 

"  Most  sincerely  do  I  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  he  will 
arrange  with  you  when  and  where  to  see  me  again. 
Farewell,  Reilly — farewell ;  rely  upon  my  constancy  ;  " 
and  so  they  parted,  Reilly  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  Coleen 
Bawn  to  her  own  room. 

"•  Come  into  the  pantry,  poor  man,"  said  good-nat- 
ured Lanigan,  addressing  our  hero,  ''till  I  give  you 
something  to  eat  and  drink." 

'' ]V[any  thanks  to  3'ou,  sir,"  replied  he  ;  ''troth  and 
waix  I  didn't  taste  a  morsel  for  the  last  fwhour — 
hugh — ugh — and  twent}^  hours  ;  and  sure,  sir,  it's  this 
cougli  tliat's  killin'  me  by  inches." 

A  thought  struck  Lanigan,  who  had  also  been  spoken 
to  by  the  gardener,  about  a  half  an  hour  before,  to 
know  if  he  could  tell  him  where  he  might  have  any 
chance  of  finding  an  assistant.  At  all  events,  they  went 
into  the  pantry,  when  Lanigan  thus  commenced,  after 
having  pulled  to  the  door,  to  prevent  their  conversation 
from  beinD;-  overheard.  Here  it  was  arrang-ed  between 
them,  that  Reilly,  who  was  both  a  good  botanist  and 
florist,  should  be  recommended  to  the  gardener  as  an 
assistant.  To  be  sure,  his  dress  and  appearance  were 
both  decidedly  against  him  ;  but  still,  they  relied  upon 
tlie  knowledge  which  Reilly  confidently  assured  the 
cook  that  he  possessed.  After  leaving  the  pantry  with 
Lanigan,  whom  our  hero  thanked  in  a  thorough  brogue, 
the  former  called  after  him,  as  he  w^as  going  away. 
.  ^'Come  here,  again,  my  good  man." 

"What  is  it,  shir  ?  may  God  bless  you,  anyhow,  for 
your  charity  to  the — hugh — ugh — to  the  poor  man. 
0  then,  but  it's  no  wondher  for  you  awl  to  be  fat  and 
rosy,  upon   sich   beautiful   kittles  as  you  gave  to  me, 


WILLY    REILLY.  265 

shir.     What  is  it,  achora  ?  and  may  the  Lord  mark  you 
vvitli  grace  !" 

*'  Would  you  take  employment  from  the  masther,  his 
honor,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  yoii  got  it  f 

'^  Arra  now,  shir,  you  gave  me  my  skinful  of  what 
w^is  gud,  but,  don't  be  makin'  fwhun  o'  me  afther.  Would 
I  take  employment,  achora  I — ay,  but  where  would  I 
get  it  ? " 

'^  Could  you  work  in  a  garden  ?  do  you  know  any- 
thing about  plants  and  flowers  I  " 

"  0  thin,  that  I  may  never  sup  sarra  (sorrow),  but 
that's  jist  what  I'm  fit  fwhor." 

''  I'm  afeared  this  scoundrel  is  but  an  imposthor,  afther 
all,"  whispered  Lanigan  to  the  other  servants  ;  "but  in 
ordher  to  make  sure,  w^e'll  try  him.  I  say — what's 
this  your  name  is  ?  " 

^'  Solvesther  McBedershin,  shir." 

*'  Well,  now,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  come 
with  me  to  the  garden,  and  see  the  gardener  !  but  hould, 
here  he  is.  Mr.  Malcomson,"  continued  Lanigan, 
"  here  is  a  poor  man  who  says  he  undherstands  plants, 
and  flowers,  and  weeds  of  that  kind." 

'' Speak  wi'  reverence,  Mr.  Lanigan,  o' the  airt  of 
gerdening.  Dinna  ye  ken  that  the  founder  o'  the  hail 
human  race  was  a  gerdener  !  Hout  awa,  mon  ;  speak 
o't  wd'  respeck." 

''  Upon  my  conscience,"  replied  Lanigan,  ^'  whether 
he  was  a  good  gardener  or  not,  is  more  than  I  know  ; 
but  one  thing  I  do  know,  that  he  didn't  hould  his  situa- 
tion long,  and  mismanaged  his  orchard  disgracefully  ; 
and,  indeed,  like  many  more  of  his  tribe,  he  got  his 
walkin'  papers  in  double  quick — was  dismissed  without 
a  characther — ay,  and  his  wdfe,  like  many  another 
gardener's  wife,  got  a  habit  of  stalin'  tlie  apples.  How- 
ever, I  wish,  Mr.  Malcomson,  that  you,  who  do  under-, 
stand  gardenin',  would  thry  this  fellow ;  because  I  want 
to  know  whether  he's  an  imposthor  or  not." 


266  WILLY    REILLY. 

'*  Weel,"  replied  Malcomson,  ^^  I  dinna  care  if  I  do. 
We'll  soon  find  that  out  Come  wi'  me  and  Maisther 
Lanigan  here,  and  we'll  see  what  you  ken  about  tliat 
sceentific  profession." 

They  accordingly  went  to  the  garden,  and  it  is  un- 
necessary to  say  that  Reilly  not"  only  bore  the  examin 
ation  well,  but  proved  himself  by  far  the  better  botanist 
of  the  two.  He  tempered  his  answers,  however,  in 
such  a  way  as  not  to  allow  the  gardener's  vanity  to  be 
hurt,  in  which  case  he  feared  that  he  might  have  little 
chance  of  being  engaged. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MORE  OF  WHITECRAFt's  PLOTS  AND  PRANKS. 

On  the  Sunday  following,  Miss  Folliard,  as  was  her 
usual  custom,  attended  divine  service  at  her  parish 
church,  accompanied  by  the  virtuous  Miss  Herbert, 
who  scarcely  ever  let  her  for  a  moment  out  of  her  sight, 
and,  in  fact,  added  grievously  to  the  misery  of  her  life. 
After  service  had  been  concluded,  she  waited  until  Mr. 
Brown  had  descended  from  the  pulpit,  when  she  accosted 
him,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  have  some  private  conver- 
sation with  him  in  the  vestry-room.  To  this  room  they 
were  about  to  proceed,  when  Miss  Herbert  advanced 
with  an  evident  intention  of  accompanying  them. 

'^  Mr.  Brown,"  said  the  Coleen  Baivn^  looking  at  him 
significantly,  ^'  I  wish  that  our  interview  should  be  pri- 
vate." 

*^  Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard,  and  so  it  shall  be. 
Pray,  who  is  this  lady?" 

"  1  am  forced,  sir,  to  call  lier  maid." 

Mr.  Brown  was  startled  a  good  deal,  not  only  at  the 
words,  but  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered. 


WILLY    REILLY.  267 

^^  Madam,"  said  he,  ^'  you  will  please  to  remain  here 
until  your  mistress  shall  return  to  you,  or,  if  you  wish, 
you  can  amuse  yourself  by  reading  the  inscriptions  on 
the  tombstones." 

"  0,  but  I  have  been  ordered,"  replied  Miss  Herbert, 
''  by  her  father  and  another  gentleman,  not  to  let  her 
out  of  my  sight." 

Mr.  Brown,  understandingthat  something  was  wrong, 
now  looked  at  her  more  closely,  after  which,  with  a 
withering  frown,  he  said  : — 

''I  think  I  know  you,  madam,  and  I  am  very  sorry 
to  hear  that  you  are  an  attendant  upon  this  amiable 
lady.  Remain  where  you  are,  and  don't  attempt  to  in- 
trude yourself  as  an  ear- witness  to  any  communication 
Miss  Folliard  may  have  to  make  to  me." 

The  profligate  creature  and  unprincipled  spy  bridled, 
looked  disdain  and  bitterness  at  the  amiable  clergy- 
man, who,  accompanied  by  our  heroine,  retired  to  the 
vestry.  It  is  unnecessary  to  detail  their  conversation, 
which  was  sustained  by  the  Coleen  Bawn  with  bitter 
tears.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  good  and  pious  min- 
ister, though  not  aware  until  then  that  Miss  Herbert  had, 
by  the  scoundrel  baronet,  been  intruded  into  Squire 
FoUiard's  family,  was  yet  acquainted,  from  peculiar 
sources,  with  the  nature  of  the  immoral  relation  in  which 
she  stood  to  that  hypocrite.  He  felt  shocked  beyond 
belief,  and  assured  the  weeping  girl  that  he  would  call 
the  next  day  and  disclose  the  treacherous  design  to  her 
father,  who,  he  said,  could  not  possibly  have  been  aware 
of  the  wretch's  character  when  he  admitted  her  into  his 
family.  They  then  parted,  and  our  heroine  was  obliged 
to  take  this  vile  creature  into  the  carriage  with  her  home. 
On  their  return.  Miss  Herbert  began  to  display  at  once 
the  malignity  of  her  disposition,  and  the  volubiHty  of  her 
tongue,  in  a  fierce  attack  upon  what  she  termed  the  un- 
gentlemanly  conduct  of  Mr.  Brown.  To  all  she  said, 
however,  Helen  uttered  not  one  syllable  of  reply.     She 


268  WILLY    REILLY. 

neither  looked  at  her  nor  noticed  her,  but  sat  in  profound 
silence,  not,  however,  without  a  distracted  mind  and 
breaking  heart. 

On  the  next  day  the  squire  took  a  fancy  to  look  at 
the  state  of  his  garden,  and,  having  got  his  hat  and 
cane,  he  sallied  out  to  observe  how  matters  were  going 
on,  now  that  Mr.  Malcomson  had  so  good  an  assistant, 
whom,  by  the  way,  he  had  not  yet  seen. 

'^  Now,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  "as  3^ou  have  found  an 
assistant,  I  hope  you  will  soon  bring  my  garden  into  de- 
cent trim.  What  kind  of  a  chap  is  he,  and  how  did  you 
come  by  him  ?  " 

'^  Saul,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson,  "  he's  a 
devilish  clever  chiel,  and  vara  weel  acquaint  wi'  our 
noble  profession." 

"  Confound  yourself  and  your  noble  profession  !  I 
think  every  Scotch  gardener  of  you  believes  himself  a 
gentleman,  simply  because  he  can  nail  a  few  stripes  of 
old  blanket  against  a  wall.  How  did  you  come  by  this 
fellow,  I  say  I" 

''  Ou  just  through  Lanigan,    the  cook,  your  honor," 

"  Did  Lanigan  know  him  f 

''  Hout,  no,  your  honor ;  it  was  an  act  o'  charity 
like." 

''  Ay,  ay,  Lanigan's  a  kind-hearted  old  fool,  and  that's 
just  like  him  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  let  me  see  this 
chap." 

''  There  he  is  your  honor,  trimming  and  taking  care 
o'  that  bed  o'  'Love-lies-bleeding.'  " 

^'  Ay,  ay  ;  I  dare  say  my  daughter  set  him  to  that 
task." 

"  Na,  na,  sir.  The  young  lady  liasna  seen  him  yet, 
nor  hasna  been  in  the  gerden  for  the  last  week." 

"  Why,  confound  it,  Malcomson,  that  fellow's  more 
like  a  beggerman  than  a  gardener." 

"  Saul,  but  he's  a  capital  liand  for  a'  that.  Yer  hon- 
or's na'  to  tak  the  beuk  by  the  cover.    To  be  sure  he's 


WILLY    REILLY.  269 

awfully  vulgar,  but,  ma  faith,  lie  has  a  richt  gude  knowl- 
edgeable apprehension  o'  buttany  and  gerdening  in 
general." 

The  squire  then  approached  our  under-gardener,  and 
accosted  him. 

"'  Well,  my  good  fellow,  so  you  understand  garden- 
ing?" 

"  A  little,  your  haner,"  replied  the  other,  respect- 
fully touching  his  hat,  or  caubeen,  rather. 

''  Are  you  a  native  of  tins  neighborhood  f  " 

''No,  your  haner.  I'm  fwarther  up — from  West- 
port,  your  haner." 

''  Who  were  you  engaged  with  last  ?  " 

''  I  wasn't  engaged,  shir — it  was  only  job-work  I  was 
able  to  do — the  health  wasn't  gud  wid  me." 

"  Have  you  no  better  clothes  than  those?  '^ 

''You  see  all  that  I  have  on  me,  shir." 

"  Well,  come,  I'll  give  you  the  price  of  a  suit  rather 
than  see  such  a  scarecrow  in  my  garden." 

"  I  couldn't  take  it,  shir," 

"  The  devil  you  couldn't !     Why  not,  man  %  " 

"  Bekaise,  shir,  I'm  undher  pinance." 

"  Well,  why  dont  you  shave  I  " 

"  I  can't  shir,  for  de  same  raison." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  what  the  devil  did  you  do  that  they 
put  such  a  penance  on  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  runned  away  w^id  a  young  woman,  shir" 

"  Upon  my  soul,  you're  a  devilish  likely  fellow  to 
run  away  with  a  young  woman,  and  a  capital  taste  slie 
must  have  had  to  go  with  you ;  but  perhaps  you  took 
her  away  by  violence  eh  ?  " 

"  No  shir  ;  she  was  willin'  enough  to  come  ;  but  her 
fadher  wouldn't  consint,  and  so  we  made  off  wid 
oursePs." 

This  was  a  topic  upon  which  the  squire,  for  obvious 
reasons,  did  not  like  to  press  him.  It  was  in  fact  a 
sore  subject,  and  accordingly  he  changed  it. 


270  WILLY    REILLY. 

^'  I  suppose  you  have  been  about  the  country  a  good 
deal." 

^'  I  have  mdeed,  your  haner." 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of,  or  to  meet  with, 
a  person  called  Reilly  I  " 

''  Often,  shir ;  met  many  of  dem." 

^'0,  but  I  mean  the  scoundrel  caUed  Willy  Reilly." 

'^  Is  dat  him  dat  left  de  country,  shir?  '' 

''  Why,  how  do  you  know  that  he  has  left  the  coun- 
try I  " 

^'I  don't  know  myself,  shir;  but  dat  de  people  does 
be  sayin'  it.  ^  Dey  say  dat  himself  and  wan  of  our 
bishops  went  to  France  togeder.'^ 

*'  The  squire  seemed  to  breath e;more freely,  as  he  said, 
in  alow  soliloquy,  "  I'm  devilish  glad  of  it ;  for  after  all 
it  would  go  against  my  heart  to  hang  the  fellow. 
Well,'^  he  said  aloud,  ''so  he's  gone  to  France.'^ 

''So  de  people  does  be  sayin',  shir." 

"  Well,  tell  me,  do  you  know  a  gentleman  called  Sir 
Robert  Whitecraft  ? " 

'^  Is  dat  him,  shir,  dat  keeps  de  misses  privately  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  keeps  misses  privately  1 " 

"  Fhwy,  shir,  dey  say  his  last  one  was  a  Miss  Her- 
bert, and  dat  she  had  a  young  one  by  him,  and  dat  she 
was  an  English  woman.  It  isn't  ginerally  known,  I  be- 
lieve, shir,  but  dey  do  be  sayin^  dat  she  was  brought  to 
bed  in  the  cottage  of  some  bad  woman  named  Mary 
Mahon,  dat  does  be  on  the  lookout  to  get  sweethearts 
for  him." 

"  There's  five  thirteens  for  you,  and  I  wish  to  God, 
my  good  fellow,  that  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be 
put  in  better  feathers." 

"  0,  I  expect  my  pinance  will  be  out  before  a  mont, 
shir,  but,  until  den,  I  couldn't  take  any  mony." 

"  Malcomson,"  said  he  to  the  gardener,  "  I  think  that 
fellow's  a  half  fool.  I  offered  him  a  crown,  and  also 
said  I  would  get  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  he  would  not 


WILLY    REILLY.  271 

take  either  :  but  talked  about  some  silly  penance  he 
was  undergoing-." 

''  Saul,  then,  your  honor,  he  may  be  a  fule  in  ither 
things,  but  de'il  a  ane  of  hini's  a  fule  in  the  sceence  o' 
buttany.  As  to  that  penance,  it's  just  some  Papistrical 
nonsense  he  has  gotten  into  his  head — de'il  hae't  mair  ; 
but  sure  they'i'e  a'  full  o'  it — a'  o'  the  same  graft,  an'  a 
bad  one,   I  fear,  it  is." 

'^  Well,  I  believe  so,  Malcomson,  I  believe  so.  How- 
ever, if  the  unfortunate  fool  is  clever,  give  him  good 


wages." 


'^  K^aul,  your  honor,  I'll  do  him  justice  ;  only  I  think 
that,  anent  that  penance  he  speaks  o',  the  hail  Papish 
population,  bad  as  we  think  them,  are  suffering  penance 
eneuch,  one  way  or  tither.  It  disna  beseem  a  Protes- 
tant— that  is,  a  prelatic  government — to  persecute  ony 
portion  o'  Christian  people,  on  account  of  their  religion. 
We  have  felt  and  kenned  that  in  Scotland  sairly.  I  am 
no  freend  to  persecution,  in  ony  shape.  But,  as  to  this 
chiel,  I  ken  naething  aboot  him,  but  that  he  is  a  gude 
buttanist.  Hout,  your  honor,  to  be  sure  I'll  gie  him 
a  fair  wage  for  his  skeel  and  labor." 

Malcomson,  who  was  what  we  have  often  met,  a 
pedant  gardener,  saw,  however,  that  the  squire's  mind 
was  disturbed.  In  the  short  conversation  which  they 
had  he  spoke  abruptly,  and  with  a  flushed  counten- 
ance ;  but  he  was  too  shrewd  to  ask  him  why  he  seemed 
so.  It  was  not,  he  knew,  his  business  to  do  so  ;  and  as 
the  squire  left  the  garden,  to  pass  into  the  house,  he 
looked  at  him,  and  exclaimed  to  himself — "  my  certie, 
there's  a  bee  in  that  man's  bannet." 

On  going  to  the  drawing-room,  the  squire  found  Mr. 
Brown  there,  and  Helen,  in  tears. 

"  How,"  he  exclaimed,  *'  what  is  this  I  Helen  cry- 
ing !  Why,  what's  the  matter,  my  child!  Brown, 
have  you  been  scolding  her,  or  reading  her  a  homily  to 
teach  her  repentance  ?     Confound  me,  but  I  know  it 


272  ^YILLY    RETLLY. 

would  teach  her  patience,  at  all  events.     What  is  the 
matter  V 

''  My  dear  Miss  FolJiard,"  said  the  clergvman,  ''  if 
you  will  liave  the  goodness  to  withdraw,  I  will  explain 
this  shocking  business  to  3^our  father." 

*'  Shocking  business  !  Why,  m  God's  name.  Brown, 
wdiat  has  happened  ?  And  why  is  my  daughter  in  tears, 
I  ask  again  ?" 

Helen  now  left  the  drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Brown 
.  replied : — 

"  Sir,  a  circumstance  which,  for  baseness  and  diabol- 
ical iniquity  is  un23aralleled  in  civilized  society;  I 
could  not  pollute  your  daughter's  ears  by  reciting  it  in 
her  presence,  and  besides  she  is  already  aware  of  it." 

''Ay,  but  what  is  it?  Confound  you,  don't  keep  me 
on  tenter  hooks." 

''  I  shall  not  do  so  long,  my  dear  friend.  Who  do 
you  imagine  your  daughter's  maid,  I  mean  that  female 
attendant  upon  your  pure-minded  and  virtuous  child, 
is  I"     • 

"Faith  go  ask  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft;  it  was  he 
recommended  her ;  for,  on  hearing  that  the  maid  she 
had,  Ellen  Connor,  was  a  Papist,  he  said  he  felt  uneasy 
lest  she  might  prevail  on  my  daughter  to  turn  Catholic, 
and  marry  Eeilly." 

"  But  do  you  not  know  who  the  young  woman  that 
is  about  your  daughter's  person  is  ?  You  are,  however, 
a  father  who  loves  your  child,  and  I  need  not  ask  such 
a  question.  Then,  sir,  I  will  tell  you  who  she  is.  Sir, 
she  is  one  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  cast-off  mis- 
tresses— a  profligate  wanton,  who  has  had  a  child  by 
him." 

The  fiery  old  squire  had  been  walking  to  and  fro  the 
room,  in  a  state  of  considerable  agitation  before — his 
mind  already  charged  with  the  same  intelligence,  as  he 
had  heard  it  from  tlie  gardener (Reilly).  He  now  threw 
himself  into  a   chair,  and  putting  his  hands  before  his 


^^1LLY    REILLY.  273 

face,  muttered  out  between  his  fingers — "D — n  seize  the 
villain  !  It  is  true,  then.  Well,  never  mind,  I'll  demand 
satisfaction  for  this  insult ;  I  am  not  too  old  to  pull  a 
trigger,  or  give  a  thrust  yet ;  but  then  the  cowardly 
hypocrite  won't  fight.  When  he  has  a  set  of  military 
at  his  back,  and  a  parcel  of  unarmed  peasants  before 
him,  or  an  unfortunate  priest  or  two,  why,  he's  a  dare- 
devil. Hector  was  nothing  to  him — no,  confound  me, 
nor  mad  Tom  Simpson,  that  wears  a  sword  on  each  side, 
and  a  double  case  of  pistols,  to  freighten  the  bailiffs. 
The  d — d  scoundrel !  To  impose  on  me  and  insult 
my  child  !" 

^'  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  clergyman,  calmly,  *^I 
can,  indeed,  scarcely  blame  your  indignation  ;  it  is  nat- 
ural ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  useless  and  unavailable. 
Be  cool,  and  restrain  your  temper.  Of  course,  you 
could  not  think  of  bestowing  your  daughter,  in  mar- 
riage, upon  this  man." 

^'  I  tell  you  what,  Brown — I  tell  you  what,  my  dear 
friend — let  the  Devil,  Satan,  Beelzebub,  or  whatever 
you  call  him  from  the  pulpit — I  say,  let  him  come  here 
any  time  he  pleases,  in  his  holiday  hoofs  and  horns, 
tail  and  all,  and  he  shall  have  her  sooner  than  White- 
craft." 

Mr.  Brown  could  not  help  smiling,  whilst  he  said — 
*'  Of  course,  you  will  instantly  dismiss  this  abandoned 
creature." 

He  started  up,  and  exclaimed,  ^' Cog's  'ounds,  what 
am  I  about  f  He  instantly  rang  the  bell,  and  a  footman 
attended.  ''  John,  desire  that  wench,  Herbert,  to  come 
here." 

^^  Do  you  mean  Miss  Herbert,  sir  !" 

^'  I  do — Miss  Herbert — egad,  you've  hit  it ;  be  quick, 
sirrah." 

John  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Miss 
Herbert  entered. 

*^Miss  Herbert/' said  the  squire,  "  leave  this  liouse 


274  WILLY   REILLY. 

as  fast  as  the  devil  can  drive  you  ;  and  he  has  driven 
you  to  some  purpose  before  now  ;  ay,  and  I  dare  say, 
will  again.  I  say,  then,  as  fast  as  he  can  drive  you, 
pack  up  your  luggage,  and  begone  to  hell  about  your 
business.     I'll  just  give  you  ten  minutes  to  disappear." 

^^  What's  all  this  about,  master  I" 

^^  Master  ! — why,  d — n  your  brazen  impudence,  how 
dare  you  call  me  master  ?    Begone,  you  jade  of  hell !" 

*'  No  more  of  a  jade  of  hell,  sir,  than  you  are  ;  nor  I 
sha'n't  begone  until  I  gets  a  quarter's  wages — I  tell  you 
that." 

'^You  shall  get  whatever's  coming  to  you:  but  not 
another  penny.  The  house  steward  will  pay  you — be- 
gone, I  say !" 

"No,  sir,  I  sha'n't  begone  till  I  gets  a  quarter's 
salary  in  full.  You  broke  your  agreement  with  me, 
wich  is  wat  no  man  as  is  a  gentleman  would  do  ;  and 
you  are  puttin'  me  away,  too,  without  no  cause." 

"  Cause,  you  vagabond  !  3^ou'll  find  the  cause  squal- 
ling, I  suppose,  in  Mary  Mahon's  cottage,  somewhere 
near  Sir  Robert  AVhitecraft's  ;  and  when  3^ou  see  him 
tell  him  I  have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.  Off,  I 
say !" 

*^  0  !  I  suppose  you  mean  tha  love-child  I  had  b}^  him 
— ha,  ha  !  is  that  all  f  But  I  never  had  a  hankerin' 
after  a  rebel  and. a  Papist,  which  is  far  worser  ;  and  I 
now  tell  you  you're  no  gentleman  you  nasty  old  Hir- 
ish  squire.  You  brought  me  here  and  Sir  Robert  sent 
me  here,  to  watch  your  daughter.  Now,  what  kind  of 
a  young  lady  must  she  be  as  requires  watching  ?  I 
never  was  watched ;  because  as  how  I  was  well  con- 
ducted, and  nothing  could  ever  be  laid  to  my  charge 
but  a  love-child.'' 

"  By  the  great  Boyne,"  he  exclaimed,  running  to  the 
vrindow,  and  tlirowingup  the  sash — "  yes,  by  the  great 
Boyne,  there  is  Tom  Steeple  ;  and  if  he  doesn't  bring 
you  and  the    pump  acquainted,  I'm  rather   mistaken. 


WILLY    REILLY.  275 

Hel^,  Tom,  I  have  a  job  for  you.  Do  you  wish  to 
earn  a  bully  dinner,  my  boy  !  " 

Miss  Herbert,  on  hearing  Tom's  name  mentioned,  dis- 
r])peared  like  lightning  and  set  about  packing  her 
filings  immediately.  The  steward,  by  his  master's 
desire,  paid  her  exactly  what  was  due  to  her,  which  she 
received  without  making  a  single  observation.  In 
truth,  she  entertained  such  a  terror  of  Tom  Steeple, 
who  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  as  a  wild  Irishman, 
not  long  caught  in  the  mountains,  that  she  stole  out  by 
the  back  way,  and  came,  by  making  a  circuit,  out  up- 
on the  road  that  led  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  house, 
which  she  passed  w^ithout  entering,  but  went  directly 
to  Mary  Mahon's,  who  had  provided  a  nurse  for  her  ille- 
gitimate child  in  the  neighborhood.  She  had  not 
been  there  long,  when  she  sent  her  trusty  friend,  Mary, 
to  acquaint  Sir  Robert  with  what  had  happened.  He 
was  from  home,  engaged  in  an  expedition  of  which  we 
feel  called  upon  to  give  some  account  to  the  reader. 

At  this  period,  when  the  persecution  ran  high  against 
the  CathoHcs,  but  with  peculiar  bitterness  against  their 
priesthood,  it  is  but  justice  to  a  great  number  of  Prot- 
estant magistracy  and  gentry — nay,  and  many  of  the 
nobility  besides — to  state  that  their  conduct  was  both 
liberal  and  generous  to  the  unfortunate  victims  of  those 
cruel  laws.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  many  Protest- 
ant justices  of  the  peace  were  imprisoned  for  refusing 
to  execute  such  oppressive  edicts  as  had  gone  abroad 
through  the  country.  Many  of  them  resigned  their 
commissions,  and  many  more  were  deprived  of  them. 
Amongst  the  latter  were  several  liberal  noblemen — 
Protestants— who  had  sufficient  courage  to  denounce 
the  spirit  in  which  the  country  was  governed  and  de- 
populated at  the  same  time.  One  of  the  latter — a  no- 
bleman of  tiie  liighest  rank  and  acquirements,  and  of 
the  most  amiable  disposition,  a  warm  friend  to  civil 
freedom,  and  a  firm  antagonist  to  persecution  and  op- 


276  WILLY   KEILLY. 

pression  of  every  hue — this  nobleman,  we  say,  married 
a  French  lady  of  rank  and  fortune,  who  was  a  Catholic, 
and  with  whom  he  lived  in  the  tenderest  love,  and  the 
utmost  domestic  felicity.  The  lady,  being  a  Catholic, 
as  we  said,  brought  over  with  her,  from  France,  a  learn- 
ed, pious,  and  venerable  ecclesiastic,  as  lier  domestic 
chaplain  and  confessor.  This  man  had  been  professor 
of  divinity  for  several  years  in  the  College  of  Louvain  ; 
but  having  lost  his  health,  he  accepted  a  small   living 

near  the  chateau  of ,  the  residence  of  the  Marquis 

de ,  in  whose  establishment  he  was   domesticated 

as  chaplain.     In  short,  he    accompanied  Lord and 

his   lady  to  Ireland,  where   he    acted  in  the  same    ca- 
pacity, but  so  far  only  as  the  lady  was  concerned  ;  for, 
as  we  have  already  said,  her  husband,  though  a  liberal 
man,  was  a  firm  but   not  a  bigoted  Protestant.     This 
harmless  old  man,  as  was  very  natural,  kept  up  a  cor- 
respondence with  several  Irish  and  French  clergymen, 
his  friends,  who,  as  he  had  done,  held  professorships  in 
the  same  college.  Many  of  the  Irish  clergymen,  knowing 
the  dearth  of  religious  instruction  which,  in  consequence 
of  the  severe  state  of  laws  then  existing  in  Ireland,  were 
naturally  anxious  to  know  the  condition  of  the  country, 
and  whether  or  not  any  relaxation  in  their  severity 
had  taken  place,  with  a  hope  that  they  might  be  able 
with  safety  to  return  to  the  mission  here,  and  bestow 
spiritual  aid  and  consolation  to  the  suffering  and  nec- 
essarily neglected  folds  of  tlieir  own  persuasion.     On 
this  harmless  and  pious  old  man  the  eye  of   Hennessy 
rested.     In  point   of  fact,  he  set  him  for  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  to  whom  he  represented  him  as  a  spy  from 
France,  and  an  active  agent  of  the  Catholic  priesthood, 
both  here  and  on  the  Continent.     In  fact,  an  incendiary, 
who,  feeling  liimself  slieltered  by  the  protection  of  the 
nobleman  in  question  and  his   countess,  was  looked 
upon  as  a  safe  man  with  whom  to  hold  correspondence. 
The  Ahhe^  as  they  termed  him,  was  in  the  habit,  by  his 


WILLY    REILLY.  277 

lordship's  desire,  and  that  of  liis  lady,  of  attending  the 
Catholic  sick  of  his  large  estates,  and  administering 
to  them  religions  instruction  and  the  ordinances  of 
their  Church,  at  a  time  when  they  could  obtain  them 
from  no  other  source.  He  also  acted  as  their  almonei*, 
and  distributed  relief  to  the  sick,  the  poor,  and  the  dis- 
tressed ;  and  thus  passed  his  pious,  harmless  and  in- 
oifensive,  but  useful  life.  Now,  all  these  circumstances 
were  noted  by  Hennessy,  who  had  been  on  the  lookout 
to  make  a  present  of  this  good  old  man  to  his  new 
patron,  Sir  Robert.  At  length,  having  discovered — by 
what  means  it  is  impossible  to  conjecture — that  the 
Ahhe  was  to  go,  on  the  day  in  question,  to  relieve  a 
poor  sick  family,  at  about  a  distance  of  two  miles  from 

the  Castle ,  the  intelligence  was  communicated  by 

Hennessy  to  Sir  Robert,  who  immediately  set  out  for 
the  place,  attended  by  a  party  of  his  myrmidons,  con- 
ducted to  it  by  the  Red  Rapparee,  who,  as  we  have 
said,  was  now  one  of  Whitecraft's  band.  There  is  of- 
ten a  stupid  infatuation  in  villain}^,  which  amounts  to 
Vvdiat  they  call  in  Scotland,  feij — that  is,  when  a  man 
goes  on  doggedly  to  commit  some  act  of  v>'ickedness, 
or  rush  upon  some  impracticable  enterprise,  the  danger 
and  folly  of  which  must  be  evident  to  every  person  but 
himself,  and  that  it  will  end  in  the  loss  of  his  life.  Sir 
Robert,  however,  had  run  a  long  and  prosperous  career 
of  persecution — a  career  by  which  he  enriched  himself 
by  the  spoils  he  had  torn,  and  the  property  he  had 
wrested,  from  his  victims,  generally  under  the  sanction 
of  Government,  but  very  frequently  under  no  sanction 
but  his  own.  At  all  events,  the  party,  consisting  of 
about  thirty  men,  remained  in  a  deep  and  narrow  lane, 
surrounded  by  higli  whitethorn  hedges,  which  pre- 
vented the  horsemen — for  they  were  all  dragoons — 
from  being  noticed  by  the  country  people.  Alas  for 
the  poor  Alhe !  they  had  not  remained  there  more 
than  twenty  minutes  when  lie  was  s^eia  approaching 


278  WILLY    REILLY. 

them,  reading  liis  breviary  as  he  came  along.  They 
did  not  move,  however,  nor  seem  to  notice  him.  until 
he  had  got  into  the  midst  of  them,  when  they  formed 
a  circle  round  him,  and  the  loud  voice  of  Whitecraft 
commanded  him  to  stand.  The  ^Door  old  priest  closed 
his  breviary,  and  looked  around  him  ;  but  he  felt  no 
alarm,  because  he  was  conscious  of  no  offence,  and 
imagined  himself  safe  under  the  protection  of  a  dis- 
tinguished Protestant  nobleman. 

''  Gentlemen,  "  said  he,  calmly  and  meekly,  but  with- 
out fear,  *'  what  is  the  cause  of  this  conduct  towards  an 
inoffensive  old  man  I     It  is  true,  I  am  a  Catholic  priest, 

but  I  am  under  the  protection  of  the  Marquis   of . 

He  is  a  Protestant  nobleman,  and  I  am  sure  the  very 
mention  of  his  name  will  satisfy  you  that  I  cannot  be 
the  object  either  of  your  suspicion  or^^our  enmity." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  "  replied  Sir  Robert,  ^4he  noble- 
man you  mention  is  a  suspected  man  himself,  and  I 
have  reported  him  as  such  to  the  Grovernment.  He  is 
married  to  a  Popish  wife,  and  you,  who  are  a  seminary 
priest,  are  harbored  by  her  and  her  husband.  " 

*'  But  what  is  your  object  in  stopping  and  surround- 
ing me,  "  asked  the  priest,  ' '  as  if  I  were  some  public  de- 
linquent, who  had  violated  the  laws  ?  Allow  me,  sir, 
to  pass,  and  prevent  me  at  your  peril ;  and  permit  me, 
before  I  proceed,  to  ask  your  name,  "  and  the  old  man's 
eyes  flashed  with  an  indignant  sense  of  the  treatment 
he   was   receiving. 

^'  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft! " 
^^  The  priest-hunter,  the  persecutor,  the  robber,  the 
murderer  !  I  did,  with  disgust,  with  horror,  with  ex- 
ecration. If  you  are  he,  I  say  to  you,  that  I  am,  as 
you  see,  an  old  man,  and  a  priest,  and  have  but  one 
life ;  take  it ;  you  will  anticipate  my  death  only  by  a 
short  period,  but  I  look  by  the  light  of  an  innocent  con- 
science into  the  future,  and  I  now  tell  you,  that  a  woful 
and  terrible  retribution  is  hanging  over  your  head." 


WILLY    REILLY.  279 

'^In  the  meantime/'  said  Sir  Robert,  very  calmly,  as 
he  dismounted  from  his  horse,  which  he  desired  one  of 
the  men  to  hold,  ''  I  have  a  warrant  from  Government 
to  arrest  you,  and  send  you  back  again  to  your  own 
country  without  delajo  You  are  here  as  a  spy,  an  in- 
cendiary, and  must  go  on  your  travels  forthwith.  In 
this,  I  am  acting  as  your  friend  and  protector,  and  so 
is  Government,  who  does  not  wish  to  be  severe  upon 
you,  as  you  are  not  a  natural  subject.  See,  sir,  here  is 
another  warrant  for  your  arrest  and  imprisonment.  The 
fact  is,  it  was  left  to  my  own  discretion,  either  to  im- 
prison you,  or  send  you  out  of  the  country.  No,  sir, 
from  a  principal  of  lenity,  I  am  determined  on  the  latter 
course." 

"  But,"  replied  the  priest,  after  casting  his  eye  over 
both  documents,  '^  as  I  am  conscious  of  no  offence,  either 
against  your  laws  or  your  Government,  1  decline  to  fly 
like  a  criminal,  and  I  will  not ;  put  me  in  prison  if  you 
wish,  but  I  certainly  shall  not  criminate  myself,  knowing 
as  I  do  that  I  am  innocent.  In  the  meantime,  I  re- 
quest that  you  will  accompany  me  to  the  castle  of  my 
patron,  that  I  may  acquaint  him  with  the  charges 
against  me,  and  the  cause  of  my  being  forced  to  leave 
his  family  for  a  time." 

*'No,  sir,"  replied  Whitecraft,  *'I  cannot  do  so;  un- 
less I  betray  the  trust  which  Government  reposes  in 
me,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  hold  any  intercourse  what- 
ever with  your  patron,  as  you  call  him,  who  is  justly 
suspected  of  being  a  Papist  at  heart.  Sir,  you  have 
been  going  abroad  through  the  country,  under  pre- 
tence of  administering  consolation  to  the  sick,  and 
bestowing  alms  upon  the  poor ;  but  the  fact  is,  you 
have  been  stirring  them  up  to  sedition,  if  not  to  open 
rebellion.  You  must,  therefore,  come  along  with  us  this 
instant.  You  proceed  with  us  to  Sligo,  from  whence 
we  shall  ship  you  off  in  a  vessel  bound  for  France, 
which  vessel  is  commanded  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  will 


280  WILLY    REILLY. 

treat  you  kindly  for  my  sake.  What  shall  we  do  for  a 
horse  for  him  ?"  he  asked,  looking  at  his  men  for  infor- 
mation on  that  point. 

*^That,  your  honor,  we'll  provide  in  a  crack,"  re- 
plied the  Red  Rapparee,  looking  up  the  road;  '*  here 
comes  Sterling,  the  ganger,  very  well  mounted,  and, 
by  all  the  stills  he  ever  seized,  he  must  Avalk  home 
upon  shank's  mare,  if  it  was  only  to. give  hiui  exercise 
and  improve  his  appetite." 

We  need  not  detail  this  open  robbery  on  the  king's 
pfficer,  and  on  the  kings  highway,  besides.  It  is 
enough  to  sa}^,  that  the  Rapparee,  confident  of  pro- 
tection and  impunity,  with  the  connivance,  although 
not  by  the  express  orders  of  the  baronet,  deprived  the 
man  of  his  horse,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  poor  old 
priest  was  placed  upon  the  saddle,  and  the  whole  cav- 
alcade proceeded  on  their  way  to  Sligo,  the  priest  in 
the  centre  of  them.  Fortunately  for  Sir  Robert's  pro- 
ject, they  reached  the  quay  just  as  the  vessel  alluded 
to  was  about  to  sail ;  and,  as  there  was,  at  that  period, 
no  novelty  in  seeing  a  priest  shipped  out  of  the  coun- 
try, the  loungers  about  the  place,  whatever  they  might 
have  thought  in  their  hearts,  seemed  to  take  no  particu- 
lar notice  of  the  transaction. 

''  Your  honor,"  said  the  Red  Rapparee,  approaching 
and  giving  a  military  salute  to  his  patron,  "  will  you 
allow  me  to  remain  in  town  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  I  have 
a  scheme  in  my  head  that  may  come  to  something.  I 
will  tell  your  honor  what  it  is  when  I  get  home." 

''Very  well,  O'Donnel,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  ''but 
I'd  advise  you  not  to  ride  late,  if  you  can  avoid  it. 
You  know  that  every  man  in  your  uniform  is  a  mark 
for  the  vindictive  resentment  of  these  Popish  rebels." 

"  Ah,  maybe  I  don't  know  that,  your  honor ;  but  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it,  that  I   will  lose  little  time." 

He  then  rode  down  a  by-street,  very  coolly  taking 
the  ganger's  horse  along  with  him.     The  reader  may 


WILLY    KEILLY.  281 

remember  the  fable  of  the  cat  that  liacl  been  trans- 
formed into  a  lacl}^,  and  the  unfortimate  mouse.  The 
Rapparee,  whose  original  propensities  were  strong  as 
ever,  could  not,  for  the  soul  of  him,  resist  the  temptation 
of  selling  the  horse  and  pocketing  the  amount.  He  did 
so,  and  very  deliberately  proceeded  home  to  his  bar- 
racks, but  took  care  to  avoid  any  private  communica- 
tion with  his  patron,  for  some  days,  lest  he  might  ques- 
tion him  as  to  what  he  had  done  with  the  animal. 

In  the  meantime,  this  monstrous  outrage  upon  an 
unoffending  priest,  who  was  a  natural  subject  of  France, 
perpetrated,  as  it  was,  in  the  open  face  of  day,  and 
witnessed  by  so  many,  could  not,  as  the  reader  may 
expect,  be  long  concealed.  It  soon  reached  the  ears  of 
the  Marquis  of and  his  lady,  who  were  deeply  dis- 
tressed at  the  disappearance  of  their  aged  and  revered 
friend.  The  marquis,  on  satisfying  himself  of  the  truth 
of  the  report,  did  not,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
wait  upon  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft ;  but,  without  loss  of 
time,  set  sail  for  London,  to  wait  upon  the  French  am- 
bassador, to  whom  he  detailed  the  whole  circumstances 
of  the  outrage.  And  here  we  shall  not  further  proceed 
with  an  account  of  those  circumstances,  as  they  will 
necessarily  intermingle  with  that  portion  of  the  narra- 
tive which  is  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  XYL 

SIR  ROBERT  INGENIOUSLY  EXTRICATES  HIMSELF  OUT  OF  A 
GREAT  DIFFICULTY. 

On  the  day  after  the  outrage  we  have  described,  the 
indignant  old  squire's  carriage  stopped  at  the  hall  door 
of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  whom  he  found  at  home.  As 
yetj  the  letter  gentleman  had  heard  nothing  of  the  con- 


282  WILLY    REILLY. 

tiimelioiis  dismissal  of  Miss  Herbert ;  but  the  old  squire 
was  not  ignorant  of  the  felonious  abduction  of  the  priest. 
At  any  other  time,  that  is  to  say,  in  some  of  his  pecu- 
liar stretches  of  loyalty,  the  act  might  have  been  a 
feather  in  the  cap  of  the  lo3^al  baronet ;  but  at  present 
he  looked  both  at  him  and  his  exploits  through  the 
medium  of  the  insult  he  had  offered  to  his  daughter. 
Accordingly,  when  he  entered  the  baronet's  library, 
where  he  found  him  literally  sunk  in  papers,  anonj^mous 
letters,  warrants,  reports  to  Government,  and  a  vast 
variety  of  other  documents,  the  worthy  Sir  Robert  rose, 
and  in  the  most  cordial  manner,  and  with  the  most  ex- 
traordinary suavity  of  aspect,  held  out  his  hand,  say- 
ing:— 

*'  How  much  obliged  I  am,  Mr.  Folliard,  at  the  kind- 
ness of  this  visit,  especially  from  one  who  keeps  at  home 
so  much  as  you  do." 

The   squire  instantly  repulsed  him,  and  replied  :— 

*'  No,  sir  ;  I  am  an  honest,  and,  I  trust,  an  honorable 
man.  My  hand,  therefore,  shall  never  touch  that  of  a 
villain." 

"  A  villain  !  why,  Mr.  Folliard,  these  are  hard  and 
harsh  words,  and  they  surprise  me,  indeed,  as  proceed- 
ing from  your  lips.  Ma}^  I  beg,  my  friend,  that  you 
will  explain  yourself  ?  " 

*'  I  will,  sir.  How  durst  you  take  the  liberty  of  send- 
ing one  of  your  cast-oif  strumpets  to  attend  personally 
upon  my  pvire  and  virtuous  daughter  ?  For  that  insult 
I  come  this  day,  to  demand  that  satisfaction  which  is 
due  to  the  outraged  feelings  of  my  daughter — to  my 
own,  also,  as  her  father,  and  natural  protector,  and  al- 
so as  an  Irish  gentleman,  who  will  brook  no  insult  either 
to  his  family  or  himself.  I  say,  then,  name  your  time 
and  place,  and  your  weapon — sword  or  jDistol,  I  don't 
care  which,  I  am  ready." 

^'  But,  my  good  sir,  there  is  some  mystery  here  ;  I 
cer.tainly  engaged  a  female  of  that  name  to  attend  on 


WILLY    REILLY.  283 

Miss  Folliard;  but  most  assuredly  she  was  a  well-con- 
ducted person." 

^'  What,  Madame  Herbert  well  conducted !  Do  you 
imagine,  sir,  that  I  am  a  fool !  Did  she  not  admit  that 
you  debauched  her  f  " 

''  It  could  not  be,  Mr.  Folliard.    I  knew  nothing  what 
soever  about  her,  except  that  she  was  daughter  to  one 
of  my  tenants,  wdio  is  besides  a  sergeant  of  dragoons." 

''  Ah,  yes,  sir,"  replied  the  squire  sarcastically  ;  '^  and 
I  tell  you,  it  is  not  for  killing  and  eating  the  enemy  that 
he  w^as  promoted  to  his  sergeantship.  But  I  see  your 
manoeuvre,  Sir,  Robert ;  you  wish  to  shift  the  conver- 
sation, and  sleep  in  a  whole  skin.  I  say  now,  I  have 
provided  myself  with  a  friend,  and  I  ask,  will  you 
fight?" 

"Most  assuredly  not,  sir;  I  am  an  enemy  to  duel- 
ling on  principle  ;  but  in  your  case,  I  could  not  think  of 
it,  even  if  I  were  not.  What,  raise  my  hand  against  the 
life  of  Helen's  father  *?  no,  sir,  I'd  sooner  die  than  do  so. 
Besides,  Mr.  Folliard,  I  am,  so  to  speak,  not  my  own 
property,  but  that  of  my  King,  my  Government,  and 
my  country,  and,  under  these  circumstances,  not  at 
liberty  to  dispose  of  my  life,  unless  in  their  quarrel." 

"1  see,"  replied  the  squire,  bitterly;  '^  it  is  certainly 
an  admirable  description  of  loyalty  that  enables  a  man, 
who  is  base  enough  to  insult  the  very  woman  who  w^^s 
about  to  become  his  wife,  and  to  involve  her  own 
father  in  the  insult,  to  ensconce  himself,  like  a  coward, 
behind  his  loyalty,  and  refuse  to  give  the  satisfaction 
of  a  man  or  a  gentleman." 

"But,  Mr.  Folliard,  wall  you  hear  me?  there  must, 
as  1  said,  be  some  mystery  here.  I  certainly  did  rec- 
ommend a  young  female  named  Herbert  to  you,  but 
I  w^as  utterly  ignorant  of  what  you  mention." 

Here  the  footman  entered,  and  whispered  something 
to  Sir  Robert,  who  apologized  to  the  squire  for  leaving  him 
two  or  three  minutes.     ''Here  is  the  last  paper,"  said 


284  WILLY   REILLY. 

he,  ''  and  I  trust  that  before  you  go  I  will  be  able  to  re- 
move clearly  and  fully  the  prejudices  which  you  enter- 
tain against  me,  and  which  originate,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, in  a  mystery  which  I  am  unable  to  penetrate." 

He  then  followed  the  servant,  who  conducted  him  to 
Hennessy,  whom  he  found  in  the  back  parlor. 

^'  Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  said  he,  somewhat  impatient- 
ly;    "what  is  the  matter  now  I" 

"Why,"  replied  the  other,  "I  have  one  as  good  as 
bagged,  Sir  Robert." 

"One  what!" 

"Why,  a  priest,  sir." 

''Well,  Mr.  Hennessy,  I  am  particularly  engaged  no  w; 
but  as  to  Reilly,  can  you  not  come  upon  his  trail?  I 
would  rather  have  him  than  a  dozen  priests  ;  however, 
remain  here  for  about  tw^enty  minutes,  or  say  half  an 
hour,  and  I  will  talk  with  you  at  more  length.  For  the 
present  I  am  most  particularly  engaged." 

"Very  well,  Sir  Robert,  I  shall  await  your  leisure; 
but  as  to  Reilly,  I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  he 
has  left  the  country." 

Sir  Robert,  on  going  into  the  hall,  saw  the  porter 
open  the  door,  and  Miss  Herbert  presented  herself. 

"O,  "  said  he,  "is  this  you?  I  am  glad  you  came; 
follow  me   into    the  front  parlor. " 

She  accordingl}^  did  so,  and  after  he  had  shut  the 
door,  he  addressed  her  as  follows : — 

"  Now  tell  me  how  the  devil  you  were  discovered  ; 
or  were  you  accessor}^  yourself  to  the  discovery,  by 
your  egregious  folly  and  vanity  ?" 

"  0  la,  Sir  Robert,  do  you  think  I  am  a  fool? " 

"  I  fear  you  are  a  little  short  of  it,"  he  replied;  "at 
all  events,  3^ou  have  succeeded  in  knocking  up  my 
marriage  with  Miss  Folliard.  How  did  it  happen  that 
they  found  you  out  ?  " 

She  then  detailed  to  him  the  circumstances  exactly 
as  the  reader  is  acquainted  with  them. 


AVILLY    REILLY.  285 

He  paused  for  sometime,  and  tlien  said:  ''There  is 
some  mystery  at  the  bottom  of  this  which  I  must  fathom. 
Have  you  any  reason  to  know  how  the  family  became 
acquainted  with  3' our  history  I  " 

"  No,  sir;  not  in  the  least." 

*'  Do  you  think  Miss  FoUiard  meets  any  person  pri- 
vately I  " 

^'Not,  sir,  while  I  was  with  her." 

*'  Did  she  ever  attempt  to  go  out  by  herself!  " 

''  Not,  sir,  w^hile  I  was  with  her." 

''Very  w^ell,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do; 
her  father  is  above  with  me  now,  in  a  perfect  hurricane 
of  indignation.  Now  you  must  say  that  the  girl  Her- 
bert, whom  I  recommended  to  the  squire,  was  a  friend 
of  yours ;  that  she  gave  you  the  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion which  I  gave  her  to  Mr.  FoUiard  ;  that,  having 
married  her  sweetheart  and  left  the  country  w^ith  him, 
you  were  tempted  to  present  ^^ourself  in  her  stead,  and 
to  assume  her  name.  I  will  call  you  up,  by  and  by, 
but  what  name  will  you  take  I" 

"My  mother's  name,  sir,  was  Wilson." 

"  Very  good  ;  what  was  her  Christian  name  ?  " 

''  Catherine,  sir." 

''And  you  must  say  that  I  knew  nothing  wdiatsoever 
of  the  imposture  you  were  guilty  of.  I  shall  make  it 
w^orth  your  while ;  and  if  you  don't  get  well  through  with 
it,  and  enable  me  to  bamboozle  the  old  fellow,  I  have 
done  with  you.     I  shall  send  for  you  by  and  by." 

He  then  rejoined  the  squire,  who  was  walking  impa- 
tiently about  the  room. 

"  Mr.  FoUiard,"  said  he,  "  I  have  to  apologize  to  you 
for  this  seeming  neglect ;  I  had  most  important  business 
to  transact,  and  T  merely  w^ent  down- stairs  to  tell  the 
gentleman  that  I  could  not  ]:)0ssib]y  attend  to  it  now, 
and  to  request  him  to  come  in  a  couple  of  hours  hence  ; 
pray  excuse  me ;  for  no  business  could  be  so  important 
as  that  in  which  I  am  now  engaged  wdth  you." 


286  WILLY   REILLY. 

"■  Yes,  but  in  the  name  of  an  outraged  father,  I  de- 
mand again  to  know  whether  you  will  give  me  satisfac- 
tion or  not  'f " 

''  I  have  already  answered  you,  my  dear  sir,  and  if 
you  will  reflect  upon  the  reasons  I  have  given  you,  I 
am  certain  you  will  admit  that  I  have  the  laws  both  of 
God  and  man  on  my  side,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  reg- 
ulate my  conduct  by  both.  As  to  the  charge  you  bring 
against  me,  about  the  girl  Herbert,  I  am  both  ignorant 
and  innocent  of  it." 

^'  Why,  sir,  how  can  you  say  so  ?  how  have  you  the 
face  to  say  so^  did  you  not  give  her  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  me,  pledging  yourself  for  her  moral  char- 
acter and  fidelity '? " 

''  I  grant  it,  but  still  I  pledge  you  my  honor  that  I 
looked  upon  her  as  an  extremely  proper  person  to  be 
about  your  daughter  ;  you  know,  sir,  tliat  you,  as  well 
as  I,  have  had — and  have  still— apprehensions  as  to 
lleilly's  conduct  and  influence  over  her  ;  and  I  did  fear, 
and  so  did  you,  that  the  maid  who  then  attended  her,  and 
to  whom  I  was  told  she  was  attached  with  such  un- 
usual affection,  might  have  availed  herself  of  her  po- 
sition, and  either  attempted  to  seduce  her  from  her  faith, 
or  connive  at  private  meetings  with  Reilly." 

*^  Sir  Robert,  I  know  your  plausibility — and  upon 
my  soul,  I  pay  it  a  high  compliment  when  I  say  it  is 
equal  to  your  cowardice." 

*'  Mr.  Folliard,  I  can  bear  all  this  with  patience,  es- 
pecially from  you — What's  this  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  ad- 
dressing the  footman,  who  rushed  into  the  room  in  a 
state  of  considerable  excitement. 

"  Why,  Sir  Robert,  there  is  a  young  woman  below, 
who  is  crying  and  lamenting  and  saying  she  must  see 
Mr.  Folliard." 

''  Damnation,  sir,"  exclaimed  Sir  Robert,  ''  what  is 
this  f  why  am  I  interrupted  in  such  a  manner  ?  I  can- 
not have  a  gentleman  ten  minutes  in  my  study,  engaged 


WILLY   REILLY.  287 

Upon  private  and  important  business,  but  in  bolts  some 
of  you,  to  interrupt  and  disturb  us.  What  does  the 
girl  want  with  me  P 

''  It  is  not  you  slie  wants,  sir,"  replied  the  footman, 
''  but  his  honor,  Mr.  Folliard." 

^'  Well,  tell  her  to  wait  until  he  is  disengaged." 

'^  No,"  replied  Mr.  Folliard,  ''send  her  up  at  once; 
what  the  devil  can  this  be  1  but  you  shall  witness  it." 

The  baronet  smiled  knowingly.  ''  Well,"  said  he, 
*^  Mr.  Folliard,  upon  my  honor,  I  thought  you  had  sown 
your  wild  oats  many  a  year  ago  ;  and  by  the  way,  ac- 
cording to  all  accounts — hem — but  no  matter  ;  this,  to 
be  sure,  will  be  rather  a  late  crop." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  sowed  my  wild  oats  in  the  right  season, 
when  I  was  hot,  young,  and  impetuous;  but  long  be- 
fore your  age,  sir,  that  field  had  been  allowed  to  lie 
barren." 

He  had  scarcely  concluded,  when  Miss  Herbert,  act- 
ing upon  a  plan  of  her  own,  which,  were  not  the  baro- 
net a  man  of  the  most  imperturbable  coolness,  might 
have  staggered,  if  not  altogether  confounded  him,  en- 
tered the  room. 

''  0  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  kneel- 
ing before  Mr.  Folliard,  ''can  you  forgive  and  pardon 
me?" 

"  It  is  not  against  you,  foolish  girl,  that  my  resent- 
ment is  or  shall  be  directed,  but  against  the  man  who 
employed  you — and  there  he  sits." 

"0  sir,"  she  exclaimed,  again  turning  to  that  wor- 
thy gentleman,  who  seemed  filled  with  astonislmient. 

"  In  God's  name,"  said  he,  interrupting  his  accomplice, 
"  what  can  this  mean  ?     Who  are  you,  my  good  girl  f 

**  My  name's  Catherine  Wilson,  sir." 

*' Catherine  Wilson,"  exclaimed  the  squire;  "  wliy, 
confound  your  brazen  face,  are  you  not  the  person  who 
styled  herself  Miss  Herbert,  and  who  lived,  but,  thanik 
God,  for  a  short  time  only,  in  my  family!" 


288  WILLY    REILLY. 

^^  I  lived  in  your  family,  sir,  but  I  am  not  the  Miss  Her- 
bert, that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  recommended  to  you." 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing  about  you,  my  good  girl," 
replied  Sir  Robert,  ''nor  do  I  even  recollect  having  ever 
seen  you  before  ;  but  proceed  with  what  you  have  to 
J  say,  and  let  us  hear  it  at  once." 

*'  Yes,  sir ;  but  perhaps  you  are  not  the  gentleman  as 
is  known  to  be  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft — him  as  hunts 
the  priest  f  0  la,  I'll  surely  be  sent  to  jail ;  gen- 
tlemen, if  you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  jail,  I'll  tell 
you  everything." 

*'  Well,  then,  proceed,"  said  the  squire.  '•^  I  will  not 
send  you  to  jail,  provided  you  tell  the  truth." 

''Nor  I,  my  good  girl,''  added  Sir  Robert,  "but  up- 
on the  same  conditions." 

"Well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
Herbert, — she  is  Hirish,  but  I'm  English.  This  gentle- 
man gave  her  a  letter  to  3^ou,  Mr.  FoUiard,  to  get  her 
as  maid  to  Miss  Helen — she  told  me — 0  my  goodness, 
I  shall  surely  be  sent  to  jail !" 

"  Go  on,  girl,"  said  the  baronet,  somewhat  sternly, 
by  which  tone  of  voice  he  intimated  to  her  that  she  was 
pursuing  the  right  course,  and  she  was  quick  enough  to 
understand  as  much. 

*'  Well,"  she  proceeded,  "•  after  Miss  Herbert  had  got 
the  letter,  she  told  her  sweetheart,  who  wouldn't  by  no 
means  allow  her  to  take  service,  because  as  wy,  h^ 
wanted  to  marry  her ;  well,  she  consented,  and  the}^ 
,  did  get  married,  and  both  of  them  left  the  country,'  be- 
cause her  father  wasn't  consenting.  As  the  letter  was 
of  no  use  to  her  then,  I  asked  her  for  it,  and  offered 
myself  in  her  name  to  you,  sir,  and  that  was  the  way 
I  came  into  your  family  for  a  »hort  time." 

The  baronet  rose  up,  in  well-feigned  agitation,  and 
exclaimed  :  "  Unfortunate  girl,  whoever  you  may  be, 
you  know  not  the  serious  mischief  and  unhappiness 
that  your  imposture  was  nearly  entailing  upon  me." 


WILLY   REILLY.  289 

*^  But  did  yon  not  say  that  you  bore  an  illegitimate 
child  to  this  gentleman  ?  "  asked  the  squire. 

^^  0  la,  no,  sir ;  you  know  I  denied  that ;  I  never  bore 
an  illegitimate  child  ;  I  bore  a  love  child,  but  not  to 
him  ;  and  there  is  no  harm  in  that,  sure.'' 

"•  Well,  she  certainly  has  exculpated  you.  Sir  Robert." 

"  Gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  and  pardon  me !  and 
will  you  promise  not  to  send  me  to  jail  ?  " 

^'  Go  about  your  business,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "  you  un- 
fortunate girl,  and  be  guilty  of  no  such  impostures  in 
future.  Your  conduct  has  nearly  been  the  means  of 
putting  enmity  between  two  families  of  rank ;  or  rather 
of  alienating  one  of  them  from  the  confidence  and  good- 
will of  the  other.     Go." 

She  then  courtesied  to  each,  shedding,  at  the  same 
time,  what  seemed  to  be  bitter  tears  of  remorse,  and 
took  her  departure  ;  each  of  them  looking  after  her,  and 
then  at  the  other,  with  surprise  and  wonder. 

*'Now,  Mr.  Follard,"  said  Sir  Robert,  solemnly,  /'I 
have  one  question  to  ask  you,  and  it  is  this ;  could  I 
possibly,  or  by  any  earthly  natural  means,  have  been 
apprised  oi  the  honor  of  your  visit  to  me  this  day  I  I 
ask  you  in  a  serious, — yes,  in  a  solemn  spirit !  because 
thehappinessof  my  future  life  depends  on  your  reply." 

"Why,  no,"  replied  the  credulous  squire,  "d — n  it, 
no,  man, — no.  Sir  Robert;  I'll  do  you  that  justice;  I 
never  mentioned  my  intention  of  coming  to  call  you 
out  to  any  individual  but  one,  and  that  on  my  way 
hither  ;  he  was  unwell,  too,  after  a  hard  night's  drink- 
ing ;  but  he  said  he  would  shake  himself  up,  and  be 
ready  to  attend  me  as  soon  as  the  matter  should  be  set- 
tled. In  point  of  fact,  I  did  not  intend  to  see  you  to- 
day, but  to  send  him  with  the  message  ;  but,  as  I  said, 
he  was  knocked  up  for  a  time  ;  and  you  know  m}^  nat- 
ural impatience.  No,  certainly  not,  it  was  in  every 
sense  impossible  tliat  you  could  have  expected  me — 
yes,  if  the  devil  was  in  it,  I_will  do  you  that  justice.'^ 


290  WILLY    REILLY. 

*^  Well,  I  have  another  question  to  ask,  my  dear  friend, 
equally  important,  if  not  more  so,  than  the  other. 
Do  you  hold  me  free  from  all  blame  in  what  has  hap- 
pened through  the  imposture  of  that  wretched  girl  f  " 

^'  Why,  after  what  has  occurred  just  now,  I  certainly 
must,  Sir  Robert.  As  you  had  no  anticipation  of  my 
visit,  you  certainly  could  not — nor  had  you  time  to  get 
up  a  scene." 

^'  Well  now,  Mr.  Folliard,  you  have  taken  a  load  off 
my  heart ;  and  I  will  candidly  confess  to  you  that  I've 
had  my  frailties,  like  other  men,  sown  my  wild  oats 
like  other  men,  but  unlike  those  who  are  not  ashamed 
to  boast  of  such  exploits,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  trumpet  my  own  failings.  I  do  not  say,  my  dear 
friend,  that  I  have  always  been  a  saint " 

"  Wh}^,  now,  that's  manly  and  candid,  Sir  Robert,  and 
I  like  you  the  better  for  it.  Yes,  I  do  exonerate  you 
from  blame  in  this.  There  certainly  was  sincerity  in 
that  wench's  tears,  and  be  d — d  to  her  ;^ for,  as  you 
properly  said,  she  vras  devilish  near  putting  between 
our  families  and  knocking  up  our  intimacy.  It  is  a  de- 
lightful thing  to  think  that  1  shall  be  able  to  disabuse 
poor  Helen's  mind  upon  the  subject;  for  I  give  you 
my  honor,  it  caused  her  the  greatest  distress,  and  ex- 
cited her  mind  to  a  high  pitch  of  indignation  against 
you ;  but  I  shall  set  all  to  rights." 

^' And  now  that  the  matter  is  settled,  Mr.  Folliard, 
we  must  have  luncli.  I  will  give  you  a  glass  of 
Burgundy,  which  I  am  sure  you  will  like." 

*'  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  placable  and  hearty 
old  squire  ;  '^  after  the  agitation  of  tlie^day  a  good  glass 
of  Burgundy  will  serve  me  certainly." 

Lunch  was  accordingly  ordered,  and  the  squire,  after 
taking  half  a  dozen  bumpers  of  excellent  wine,  got  into 
fine  spirits,  shook  hands  as  cordially  as  ever  with  the 
baronet,  and  drove  home  completely  relieved  from  the 
suspicions  which  he  liad  entertiiined. 


WILLY    REILLY.  291 

The  sqiwre,  on  his  return  liome,  immediately  called 
for  his  daagliter,  but  for  some  time  to  no  purpose.  The 
old  man  began  to  get  alarmed,  and  had  not  only  Helen's 
room  searched,  but  every  room  in  the  house.  At 
length,  the  servant  informed  him  that  she  was  tending 
and  arranging  the  green-house  flowers,  in  tlie  gar- 
den. 

''  0  ay  !"  said  lie,  after  he  had  dismissed  the  servant, 
''thank  God — thank  God!  I  will  go  out  to  the  dear 
girl,  for  she  is  a  dear  girl ;  and  it  is  a  sin  to  suspect  her. 
I  wish  to  heaven  that  that  scoundrel  Reilly  would 
turn  Protestant,  and  he  should  have  her  with  all  the 
veins  of  my  heart.  Upon  my  soul,  putting  religion 
out  of  the  question,  one  would  think  that,  in  other  re- 
spects, they  were  made  for  each  other.  But  it's  all 
this  cursed  pride  of  his  that  prevents  him;  as  if  it 
signified  what  any  person's  religion  is,  provided  he'* 
an  honest  man  and  a  loyal  subject." 

He  thus  proceeded  with  his  soliloquy  until  he  reached 
the  garden,  where  he  found  Reilly  and  her  arranging 
the  plants  and  flowers  in  a  superb  green-house. 

"  Well,  Helen,  my  love,  how  is  the  green-house  do- 
ing !     Eh  !  why,  what  is  this  !" 

At  this  exclamation  the  lovers  started,  but  the  old 
fellow  was  admiring  the  improvement,  which  even  he 
couldn't  but  notice. 

"•  Why,  what  is  this  ?"  he  proceeded ;  ^'  by  the  light 
of  day,  Helen,  you  have  made  this  a  little  paradise  of 
flowersi" 

''  It  was  not  I,  papa,"  she  replied ;  ''all  that  I  have 
been  able  to  contribute  to  the  order  and  beauty  of  the 
place  has  been  very  slight,  indeed.  It's  all  the  result 
of  this  poor  man's  taste  and  skill.  He's  an  admirable 
botanist." 

''  By  the  great  Boyne,  my  girl,  I  think  he  could  lick 
Malcomson  himself,  as  a  botanist." 

"  Shir,"  observed  Reilly,  ''  the  young  lady  is  under- 


292  WILLY   REILLY. 

waluin'  herself;  sure,  miss,  it  was  yourself  directed  me 
what  to  do,  and  how  to  do  it." 

''  Look  at  that  old  chap,  Helen,"  said  her  father, 
who  felt  in  great  good-humor  :  first,  because  he  found 
that  Helen  was  safe ;  and  again,  because  Sir  Robert, 
as  the  unsuspecting  old  man  thought,  had  cleared  up 
the  circumstances  of  Catherine  Wilson's  imposture ;  "I 
say,  Helen,  look  at  that  old  chap;  isn't  he  a  nice  bit  of 
goods  to  run  away  with  a  pretty  girl  I  and  what  a 
beautiful  taste  she  must  have  had  to  go  with  him  !  up- 
on my  soul,  it  beats  cock-fighting— confound  me,  but 
it  does." 

Helen's  face  became  crimson,  as  he  spoke,  and  yet 
such  was  the  ludicrous  appearance  which  Reilly  made 
when  put  in  connection  with  the  false  scent  on  which 
her  father  was  proceeding  at  such  a  rate,  and  the  act 
of  gallantry  imputed  to  him,  that  a  strong  feeling  of 
humor  overcame  her,  and  she  burst  into  a  loud  and 
ringing  laugh,  which  she  could  not,  for  some  time,  re- 
strain :  in  this  she  was  heartily  joined  by  her  father, 
who  laughed  till  the  tears  came  down  his  cheeks. 

^'And  yet,  Helen — ha — ha — ha,  he's  a  stalwart  old 
rogue  still,  and  must  have  been  a  devil  of  a  tyke  when 
he  was  young." 

After  another  fit  of  laughter  from  both  father  and 
daughter,   the  squire  said : — 

''  Now,  Helen,  my  love,  go  in — I  have  good  news 
for  you,  which  I  will  acquaint  you  with  by  and  by." 

When  she  left  the  garden  her  father  addressed 
Reilly  as  follows  : — 

"Now,  my  good  fellow,  will  you  tell  me  how  you 
came  to  know  about  Miss  Herbert  having  been  seduced 
by  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  ?" 

"Fwhy,  shir,  from  common  report,  shir." 

''  Is  that  all  !  But  don't  you  think,"  he  replied,  ''  that 
common  report  is  a  common  liar,  as  it  mostly  has  been, 
and  is  in  this  case.     That's  all  I  have  to  say  upon  the 


WILLY   REILLY.  203 

subject.  I  have  traced  the  affair,  and  find  it  to  be  a 
falsehood  from  beginning  to  ending.  I  have.  And 
now,  go  on  as  you're  doing,  and  I  will  make  Malcom- 
son  raise  your  wages." 

"Thank  you,  shir,"  and  he  touched  his  nondescript 
with  an  air  of  great  thankfulness  and  humility. 

"Helen,  my  darling,"  said  he,  on  entering  her  own 
sittnig-room,   "  I  said  I  liad  good  news  for  you." 

Helen  looked  at  him  with  a  doubtful  face,  and  sim- 
ply said,   "  I  hope  it  is  good,  papa." 

"  Why,  my  child,  I  won't  enter  into  particulars  ;  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  I  discovered  from  an  accidental  meet- 
ing with  that  wretched  girl  Ave  had  here  that  she  was 
not  Miss  Herbert,  as  she  called  herself,  at  all ;  but  an- 
other, named  Catherine  Wilson,  who,  having  got  from 
Herbert  the  letter  of  recommendation  which  I  read  to 
3^ou,  had  the  effrontery  to  pass  herself  for  her ;  but  the 
other  report  was  false.  The  girl  Wilson,  apprehensive 
that  either  I  or  Sir  Robert  might  send  her  to  jail,  hav- 
ing seen  my  carriage  stop  at  Sir  Robert's  house,  came 
with  tears  in  lier  eyes,  to  beg,  that,  if  we  would  not  pun- 
ish her,  she  would  tell  us  the  truth,  and  she  did  so." 

Helen  mused  for  some  time,  and  seemed  to  decide  in- 
stantly upon  the  course  of  action  she  should  pursue,  or 
rather,  the  course  which  she  had  previously  proposed  to 
herself.  She  saw  clearly,  and  had  long  known,  that  in 
the  tactics  and  stratagems  of  life  her  blunt  but  honest 
father  was  no  match  at  all  for  the  deep  hypocrisy  and 
deceitful  plausibility  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft.  ilie 
consequence  was,  that  she  allowed  her  father  to  take  his 
own  way,  without  either  remonstrance  or  contradic- 
tion. She  knew  very  well,  that,  on  this  occasion,  as  on 
every  other  wdiere  their  wits  and  wishes  came  in  oppo- 
sition, Sir  Robert  was  ahvays  able  to  outgeneral  and 
overreach  him ;  slie  therefore  resolved  to  agitate  her- 
self as  little  as  possible,  and  allow  matters  to  flow  on 
tranquilly,  until  the  crisis — the  moment  for  action — came. 


294  WILLY    REILLY. 

''  Papa,"  she  replied,  ^4his  intelligence  must  make 
your  mind  very  easy ;  I  hope,  however,  you  will  re- 
store poor  faithful  Connor  to  me.  I  never  had  such  an 
affectionate  and  kind  creature  ;  and  besides,  not  one  of 
them  could  dress  me  with  such  skill  and  taste  as  she 
could.     Will  you  allow  me  to  have  her  back,  sir  I  " 

*'  I  will,  Helen  ;  but  take  care  she  doesn't  make  a 
Papist  of  you." 

'*  Indeed,  papa,  that  is  a  strange  whim  :  why,  the  poor 
girl  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  on  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion daring  her  life  ;  nor,  if  I  saw  that  she  attempted 
it,  would  I  permit  her.  I  am  no  theologian,  papa,  and 
detest  polemics,  because  I  have  always  heard  that  those 
who  are  most  addicted  to  polemical  controversy,  have 
least  reliofion." 

^'  Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  back  poor  Connor; 
and  now  I  must  go  and  look  over  some  papers,  in  my 
study.  Good-b}^,  my  love ;  and  observe,  Helen,  don't 
stay  out  too  late  in  the  garden,  lest  the  chill  of  the  air 
might  injure  your  health." 

^'  But  you  know  I  never  do,  and  never  did,  papa." 

^^  Well,  good-by  again,  my  love." 

He  then  left  her  and  withdrew  to  his  study,  to  sign 
some  papers,  and  transact  some  business  which  he  had 
allowed  to  run  into  arrears.  When  he  had  been  there 
better  than  an  hour,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  desired  that 
Malcomson,  the  gardener,  should  be  sent  to  him,  and 
that  self-sufficient  and  pedantic  person  made  his  appear- 
ance accordingly. 

^' Well,  Malcomson,"  said  he,  ^'  how  do  you  like  the 
bearded  fellow  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Ou,  yer  honor,  weel  enuch ;  he  does  ken  something 
o'  the  sceence  o'  buttany,  an'  am  thinkin'  he  must  hae 
been  a  gude  spell  in  Scptland,  for  I  canna  guess  whare- 
else  he  could  hae  become  acquent  wi'  it." 

*'  I  see,  Malcomson,  you'll  still  persist  in  your  con- 
founded pedantry  about  your  science.     Now,  what  the 


WILLY    KEILLY.  295 

devil  has  science  to  do  with  botany  or  gardening  I " 

"  Weel,  your  honor,  it  wadna  just  become  me  to  dis- 
]:ute  wi'  ye,  upon  that  or  ony  ither  subjeck — but  for 
ti'  that,  it  required  profoond  sceence,  and  vara  exten- 
sive learnin'  to  classify  an'  arrange  a'  the  plants  o'  the 
yearth,  an'  to  gie  them  names,  by  whilk  they  can  be 
known  throughout  a'  the  nations  o'  the  warld." 

^*  AVell,  well — I  suppose  I  must  let  you  have  your 
way." 

''  Why,  your  honor,"  replied  Malcomson, ''  I  am  sure 
it  mair  becomes  me  to  let  you  liae  yours ;  but  regerd- 
ing  this  auld  carle,  I  winna  say  but  he  has  been  weel 
indoctrinated  in  the  sceence." 

''Ahem  ! — well,  go  on." 

' '  An  it's  no  easy  to  guess  whare  he  could  hae  gotten 
it.  Indeed,  I  am  of  opinion,  that  he's  no  without  a 
liantle  o'  book  lair ;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  de'il  a  (ques- 
tion spier  at  him,  anent  the  learned  names  o'  the  rare 
plants,  that  he  hasna  at  his  finger  ends,  and  gies  to  me 
aff  hand.  Naebody  but  a  man  that  has  gotten  book 
lair  could  do  yon." 

"  Book  lair— what  is  that?" 

''  Ou,  just  a  correck  knowledge  o'  the  learned  names 
o'  tlie  plants — I  dinna  say,  and  I  winna  say,  but  he's  a 
velliable  assistant  to  me,  an'  I  shouldna  wish  to  pairt 
wi'  him.  If  he'd  only  shave  off  yon  beard,  an'  let  him- 
sel  be  decently  happed  in  good  claits,  why,  he  might 
pass  in  ony  gentleman's  gerden  for  a  skeelful  buttanist." 

"  Is  he  as  good  a  kitchen  gardener  as  he  is  in  the 
green-house,  and  among  the  flowers  ?  " 

"  Weel,  your  honor,  guid  troth,  I  am  sairly  puzzled 
there;  hoot,  no,  sir;  de'il  a  thing  almost  he  kens  about 
the  kitchen  garden — a'  his  strength  lies  among  the 
flowers  and  in  the  green-house." 

"■  Well,  well,  that's  where  we  principally  want  him. 
I  sent  for  you,  Malcomson,  to  desire  you'd  raise  his 
wages^ — the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire ;  and  a  good 


296  WILLY    KEILLY. 

laborer  of  good  hire.     Let  him   have  four   shillings  a 
week  additional." 

^'  Troth,  3'our  honor,  I  am  nosayin'  but  he  weel  de- 
serves it ;  but  Lord  baud  a'  care  o'  us,  he's  a  queer  one, 
yon." 

'^  Why,  what  do  you  mean  !" 

"  Why,  de'il  heat  he  seems  to  care  about  siller,  any 
mair,  than  if  it  was  sklate  stains.  On  Saturday  last, 
when  he  was  paid  his  weekly  wages  by  the  steward, 
he  met  a  puir,  sickly-looking  auld  wife,  wi'  a  string  o' 
sickly -looking  weans,  at  the  body's  heels ;  she  didna 
ask  him  for  charity,  for,  in  troth,  he  appeared,  binna  it 
wearna  for  the  weans,  as  great  an  object  as  hersel ! — 
noo,  what  wad  your  honor  think  1  he  gaes  ower,  and 
gies  tillher  a  hale  crown  oat  o'  siller  out  o'hisaiuAvage. 
Was  ever  onything  heard  like  yon  ?  " 

''  Well,  but  I  know  the  cause  of  it,  Malcomson.  He's 
under  a  penance,  and  can  neither  shave  nor  change 
his  dress  till  his  silly  penance  is  out ;  and  I  suppose  it 
was  to  wash  off  a  part  of  it  that  he  gave  this  foolish 
charity  to  the  poor  woman  and  her  children.  Come, 
although  I  condemn  the  folly  of  it,  I  don't  like  him 
the  worse  for  it." 

*'Hout  awa,  your  honor,  what  is  it  but  rank  Papis- 
try, and  a  dependence  upon  filthy  works?  The  doited 
auld  carle,  to  throw  aff  his  siller  that  gate  1  but  that's 
Papistry  a'  ower — substituting  works  for  grace  and  faith 
— a'  Papistiy,  a'  Papistry  !  Weel,  your  honor,  I  shall 
conform  to  your  wushes — it's  my  duty,  that." 


CHAPTER  XVJL 

AWFUL  CONDUCT     OF  SQUIRE    F0LLIARD-— FERGUS     REILLY 
BEGINS  TO  CONTRAVENE  THE  RED    RAPPAREE. 

After  Malcomson  quitted  him,  the  squire,  with   his 


WILLY   REILLY.  297 

golden-beaded  cane,  went  to  saunter  about  tbrougli 
bis  beautiful  grounds  and  liis  noble  demesne,  proud, 
certainly,  of  liis  property,  nor  insensible  to  tbe  beauti- 
ful scenery  wliicli  it  presented  from  so  many  points  of 
observation.  He  bad  not  been  long  here,  when  a  poor- 
looking  peasant,  dressed  in  shabby  frieze,  approached 
him  at  as  fast  a  pace  as  he  could  accomplish  and  the 
squire,  after  looking  at  him,  exclaimed,  in  an  angry 
tone : — 

""  Well,  you  rascal,  what  the  devil  brings  you  heref 
The  man  stood  for  a  little,  and  seemed  so  much  ex- 
hausted and  out  of  breath,  that  he  could  not  speak. 

''I  say,  you  unfortunate  old  vagrant,"  repeated  the 
squire,  ''  what  brought  you  here  T 

*'  It  is  a  case  of  either  life  or  death,  sir,"  replied  the 
poor  peasant. 

"  Why,"  said  the  squire,  "what  crime  did  you  com- 
mit? Or,  perhaps,  you  broke  prison,  and  are  flying 
from  the  officers  of  justice  ;  eh  !  is  that  it?  And  you 
come  to  ask  a  magistrate  to  protect  you  ?" 

"  I  am  flying  from  the  agents  of  persecution,  sir,  and 
know  not  where  to  hide  my  head  in  order  to  avoid 
them." 

The  hard-pressed,  but  amiable  priest — for  such  he 
was — adopted  this  language  of  truth,  because  he  knew 
the  squire's  character,  and  felt  that  it  would  serve  him 
more  effectually  than  if  he  had  attempted  to  conceal  his 
profession.  .  "  I  am  a  Catholic  pi iest,  sir,  and  felt,  from 
bitter  experience,  that  this  disguise  was  necessary  to  the 
preservation  of  my  life.  I  throw  myself  upon  your  hon- 
or and  generosity,  for,  although  hasty,  sir,  you  are  re- 
ported to  have  a  good  and  a  kind  heart." 

"  You  are  disposed  to  place  confidence  in  me,  then?" 
"  I  am,  sir;  my  being  before  you  now,  and  putting 
myself  in  your  power,  is  a  proof  of  it." 

''  Who  are  pursuing  you  ?  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
eh!" 


298  WILLY    REILLY. 

'*  No,  sir,  Captain  Smellpriest  and  his  gang." 

"  Ay,  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire  ;  although  I 
don't  know  that,  either.  They  say  Smellpriest  can  do 
a  generous  thing  sometimes  ;  but  the  otlier,  when  priest- 
hunting,  never.     What's  your  name  ?" 

*'  I'll  tell  you,  without  hesitation,  sir — Maguire  ;  I'm 
of  the  Maguires  of  Fermanagh." 

''^Ay,  ay !  why  then  you  have  good  blood  in  your 
veins.     But  what  offence  were  you  guilty  of  that  you 

but  I  need  not  ask ;  it  is  enough,  in  the  present 

state  of  the  laws,  that  you  are  a  Catholic  priest.  In  the 
meantime,  are  you  aware  that  I  myself  transported  a 
Catholic  priest,  and  tliathe  would  have  SY>^ung,  only  for 
my  daughter,  who  sent  to  the  viceroy,  and,  with  mucli 
difficulty,  got  his  sentence  commuted  to  transportation 
for  life ;  I  myself  had  already  tried  it,  and  failed  ;  but 
she  succeeded,  God  bless  her  !" 

^^Yes,  God  bless  her!"  replied  the  priest,  ^'she  suc- 
ceeded, and  her  fame  has  gone  far  and  near,  in  conse- 
quence ;  yes,  may  God  of  His  mercy  bless  and  guard 
her  from  all  evil !"  and  as  the  poor  hunted  priest  spoke 
the  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  This  symptom  of  respect 
and  affection,  prompted  by  the  generous  and  heroic 
conduct  of  the  far-famed  Coleen  Baivn^  touched  her 
father,  and  saved  the  priest. 

^'  Well,"  said  he,  after  musing  for  awhile,  ^'  so  you  say 
Smellpriest  is  after  you?" 

"  He  is,  sir;  they  saw  me  at  a  distance,  across  the 
country,  scrambling  over  the  park  wall,  and  indeed  I 
was  near  falling  into  their  hands,  by  the  difficulty  I  had 
in  getting  over  it." 

^'  Well,  come,"  replied  the  squire,  '^  since  you  have  had 
the  courage  to  place  confidence  in  me,  I  won't  abuse  it ; 
come  along,  I'll  both  conceal  and  protect  you.  I  presume 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost,  for  these  priest-hounds  will 
be  apt  to  ride  round  to  the  entrance  gate,  which  I  will  de- 
sire the  porter  to  close  and  lock,  and  then  leave  the  lodge." 


WILLY   EEILLY.  299 

On  their  way  home  he  did  so,  and  ordered  the  por- 
ter up  to  the  house.  The  magnificent  avenue  was  a 
serpentine  one,  and  our  friends  had  barely  time  to  get 
out  of  sight  of  the  lodge,  by  a  turn  in  it,  when  they 
heard  the  voices  of  the  pursuers,  hallooing  for  the  por- 
ter, and  thundering  at  the   gate. 

*^  Ay,  thunder  away,  only  don't  injure  my  gate,  Smell- 
priest,  or  I'll  make  you  replace  it ;  bawl  yourselves 
hoarse,  you  are  on  the  wrong  side,  for  once  ! " 

When  they  are  approaching  the  hall  door,  which 
generally  lay  open — 

''  D — n  me,  "  said  the  squire,  '^  if  I  know  what  to  do 
with  you :  I  trust  in  God  I  won't  get  into  odium  by 
this.  At  all  events,  let  us  steal  up-stairs  as  quietly  as 
we  can,  and,  if  jDOSsible,  without  any  one  seeing  us." 

To  the  necessity  of  this  the  priest  assented,  and  they 
had  reached  the  first  landing  of  the  staircase  when  out 
popped,  right  in  their  teeth,  two  housemaids,  each  with 
brush  in  hand.  Now  it  instantly  occurred  to  the  squire, 
that  in  this  unlucky  crisis  bribery  was  the  safest  re- 
source.    He  accordingly  addressed  them  : — 

''  Come  here,  you  jades  ;  don't  say  a  word  about  this 
man's  presence  here — don't  breathe  it ;  here's  five  shill- 
ings apiece  for  5^ou,  and  let  one  of  you  go  and  bring  me 
up,  secretly,  the  key  of  the  green  room  in  the  garret ; 
it  has  not  been  opened  for  some  time.  Be  quick  now  ; 
or  stay — desire  Lanigan  to  fetch  it,  and  refreshment  al- 
so :  there's  cold  venison  and  roast  beef,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  ;  tell  Lanigan  I'm  going  to  lunch,  and  to  lay  the 
table  in  my  study.  Lanigan  can  be  depended  on,"  he 
added,  after  the  chambermaids  had  gone,  ''for  when  I 
concealed  another  priest  here  once,  he  was  intrusted 
with  the  secret,  and  was  faithful.  " 

Now  it  so  happened  that  one  of  those  maids,  who 
was  a  very  bitter  Protestant,  at  once  recognized  Father 
Maguire,  notwithstanding  his  disguise.  She  had  been 
a  servant  for  four  or  ^ve  years  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy 


300  WILLY    REILLY. 

farmer  who  lived  adjoining  him,  and  with  whom  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  freqaently  dining  when  no  danger 
was  to  be  apprehended  from  the  operation  of  the  laws. 
Indeed,  she  and  Malcomson,  the  gardener,  were  the 
only  two  individuals  in  the  squire's  establishment  who 
were  not  Catholics.  Malcomson  was  a  manoeuverer,  and 
as  is  pretty  usual  with  individuals  of  his  class  and  coun- 
try, he  looked  upon  ''  Papistry  "  as  an  abomination  that 
ought  to  be  removed  from  the  land.  Still  he  was  cau- 
tious and  shrewd,  and  seldom  or  never  permitted  those 
opinions  to  interfere  with  or  obstruct  his  own  interests. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  the  secret  was  not  long  kept.  Esther 
Wilson  impeached  her  master's  loyalty,  and  she  herself 
was  indignantly  assailed  by  Molly  Finigan,  who  hoped 
in  her  soul  that  her  master  and  young  mistress  would 
both  die  in  the  true  Church  yet. 

The  whole  kitchen  was  in  a  buzz  ;  in  fact,  a  regular 
scene  ensued  ;  every  one  spoke  except  Lanigan,  who, 
from  former  experience,  understood  the  case  perfectly ; 
but,  as  for  Malcomson,  whose  zeal  on  this  occasion  cer- 
tainly got  the  better  of  his  discretion,  he  seemed  thun- 
derstruck. 

*'  Eh,  sirs  f  Did  any  one  ever  hear  the  like  o'  this? 
to  hide  a  rebel  priest  frae  the  offended  laws !  But  it 
canna  be  that  this  puir  man  is  a'  thegether  richt  in  his 
head.  Lord  hae  a  care  o'  us  !  The  man  surely  must  be 
demented  ;  or  he  wadna  venture  to  bring  such  a  man  in- 
to his  ain  house — into  the  vara  house.  I  think,  Mais- 
ther  Lenigan,  it  wad  be  just  a  precious  bit  o'service  to 
religion  and  our  laws  to  gang  and  tell  the  next  magis- 
trate. Gude  guide  us  !  what  an  example  he  is  settin^ 
to  his  loyal  neighbors,  and  his  hail  connections  !  That 
ever  we  suld  see  the  like  o'  this — o'  this  waefu'  back- 
sliding at  his  years  !  Lord  hae  a  care  o'  us,  I  say  aince 
mair. " 

^'  0,  but  there's  more  to  come,  "  said  one  of  them,  for 
in  the   turmoil  produced  by  this  shocking  intelligence 


WILLY   REILLY.  301 

tliey  liad  forgotten  to  deliver  the  message  to  Lanigan. 

^'  Mr.  Lanigan,"  said  Esther,  and  her  breath  was 
checked  by  a  hysteric  hickup,  ''  Mr.  Lanigan,  you  are 
to  bring  up  the  key  of  the  green  room,  and  plenty  of 
venison,  roast  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine.     There  ! " 

^'  Saul,  Maisther  Lenigan,  I  winna  stay  langer  under 
this  roof;  it's  nae  cannie ;  I'll  e'en  gang  out,  and  hae 
some  nonsense  clavers  wi'  yon  queer  auld  carle  i'  the 
gerden.  The  Lord  hae  a  care  o'  us !  what  will  the 
warld  come  to  next !  '* 

He  accordingly  repaired  to  the  garden,  where  the 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  give  a  fearful  account  to  Reilly 
of  their  master's  political  profligacy.  The  latter  felt 
surprised,  but  not  all  at  Malcomson's  narrative.  The 
fact  was,  he  knew  tlie  exact  circumstances  of  the  case, 
because  he  knew  the  squire's  character,  which  was 
sometimes  good,  and  sometimes  the  reverse — just  ac- 
cording to  th-e  humor  he  might  be  in  ;  and  in  reply  ob- 
served to  Malcomson  that — 

*'  As  his  honor  done  a  great  deal  o'  good  to  the  poor 
o'  the  counthry,  I  think  it  wouldn't  be  daicent  in  us, 
Misther  Malcomson,  to  go  for  to  publish  this  generous 
act  to  the  poor  priesth  ;  if  he  is  wrong,  let  us  lave  him 
to  Gad,  shir." 

*^  Ou,  ay,  weel  I  dinna  but  you're  richt ;  the  mair, 
that  we  won't  hae  to  answer  for  his  transgressions ; 
sae  e'en  let  every  herring  hang  by  his  ain  tail." 

In  the  meantime,  Lanigan,  wdio  understood  the  af- 
fair well  enough,  addressed  the  audience  in  the  kitchen 
to  the  following  effect : — 

*'Now',"  said  he,  ''what  a  devil  of  a  hubbub  you  all 
make  about  nothing !  pray,  young  ladies,"  addressing 
the  two  chambermaids,  "  did  his  honor  desire  you  to 
keep  what  you  seen  saicret  ?  " 

*'  He  did,  cook,  he  did,  "  replied  Esther;  ''and  gave 
us  money  not  to  speak  about  it,  which  is  a  proof  of  his 
guilt." 


302  WILLY   RETLLY. 

'^  And  the  fii*st  thing  you  did  was  to  blaze  it  to  the 
whole  kitchen  !  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  now — if  he  ever 
hears  that  you  breathed  a  syllable  of  it  to  mortal  man, 
you  won't  be  under  his  roof  two  hours." 

'^0  but,  surely,  cook 

^'  0  but,  surely  madam,"  replied  Lanigan,  *^  you 
talk  of  what  you  don't  understand ;  his  honor  knows 
very  well  what  he's  about,  and  has  authority  for  it." 

This  sobered  her  to  some  purpose ;  and  Lanigan  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  his  master's  orders. 

It  is  true,  Miss  Esther  and  Malcomson  were  silent  for 
their  own  sakes ;  but  it  did  not  remove  their  indignation; 
so  far  from  that,  Lanigan  liimself  came  in  for  a  share  of 
it,  and  was  secretly  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  the 
squire's  confidant  in  the  transaction. 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  position,  the  Red  Rappa- 
ree  began  gradually  to  lose  the  confidence  of  his  un- 
scrupulous employer.  He  had  promised  that  worthy 
gentleman  to  betray  his  former  gang,  and  deliver  them 
up  to  justice  in  requital  for  the  protection  which  he  re- 
ceived from  him.  This  he  would  certainly  have  done 
were  it  not  for  Fergus,  who,  happening  to  meet  one  of 
them  a  day  or  two  after  the  Rapparee  had  taken  service 
with  W]iitecraft,upon  the  aforesaid  condition,  informed 
the  robber  of  that  fact,  and  desired  hini,  if  he  wished  to 
provide  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of  his  companions, 
they  would  forthwith  leave  the  countr}",  and,  if  possible, 
the  kingdom.  They  accordingly  took  the  hint :  some 
of  them  retired  to  distant  and  remote  places,  and  others 
went  beyond  seas,  for  their  security.  The  promise, 
therefore,  wliich  the  Rapparee  had  made  to  the  baronet, 
as  a  proof  of  gratitude  for  his  protection,  he  now  found 
himself  incapable  of  fulfilling,  in  consequence  of  the  dis- 
persion and  disa]:)pearance  of  his  band.  When  he  stated 
this  fact  to  Sir  Robert,  he  gained  little  credit  from  him  ; 
and  the  consequence  was,  that'his  patron  felt  disposed  to 
think  that  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  depended  on.  Still,  what 


wrrxY  REiLLY.  303 

he  had  advanced  h\  his  own  defence  might  be  true,  and 
altliougli  his  confidence  in  him  was  shaken,  he  resolved 
to  maintain  him  yet  in  his  service — and  that  for  two 
reasons,  one  of  wiiich  was,  that,  by  having  him  under 
his  eye,  and  within  his  grasp,  he  could  pounce  upon  hinj 
at  any  moment ;  the  other  was,  that,  as  he  knew,  from 
the  previous  shifts  and  necessities  of  his  own  lawless  life, 
all  those  dens  and  recesses  and  caverns  to  which  the 
Catholic  priesthood  and  a  good  number  of  the  people 
were  obliged  to  fly  and  conceal  themselves,  he  must, 
necessaril}^,  be  a  useful  guide  to  him  as  a  priest-hunter. 
It  is  true,  he  assured  him  that  he  had  procured  his  par- 
don from  Government,  principally,  he  said,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  own  influence,  and  because,  in  all  his  rob- 
beries, it  had  not  been  known  that  he  ever  took  away 
human  life.  In  general,  however,  this  was  the  policy 
of  the  Rapparees,  unless  when  they  identified  themselves 
with  political  contests  and  outrages,  and  on  those  oc- 
casions they  were  savage  and  cruel  as  fiends.  In  sim- 
ple robbery  on  the  king's  highway,  or  in  burglaries  in 
houses,  they  seldom,  almost  never,  committed  murder, 
unless  when  resisted  and  in  defence  of  their  lives.  Gn 
the  contrary,  they  were  quite  gallant  to  females,  whom 
they  treated  with  a  kind  of  rude  courtesy  ;  not  unfre- 
quently  returning  the  lady  of  the  house  her  gold  watch 
— but  this  only  on  occasions  when  they  had  secured  a 
large  booty  of  plate  and  money.  The  Threshers  of 
1805-6  and '7,  so  far  as  cruelty  goes,  were  a  thousand 
times  worse  ;  for  they  spared  neither  man  nor  woman 
in  their  infamous  and  nocturnal  visits  ;  and  it  is  enough 
to  say,  besides,  that  their  cowardice  was  equal  to  their 
cruelty.  It  has  been  proved,  at  special  commissions 
held  about  those  periods,  that  four  or  five  men,  with  red 
coats  on  them,  have  made  between  two  and  three  hun- 
dred of  the  miscreants  run  for  their  lives,  and  they  toler- 
ably well  armed.  Whetlier  Sir  Eobert's  account  of  the 
Rapparee's  pardon  was  true  or  false  will  appear  in  due 


304  WILLY    REILLY. 

time;  for  the  truth  is  that  Whitecraft  was  one  of  those 
men  who,  in  consequence  of  his  stanch  loyalty  and  burn- 
ing zeal  in  carrying  out  the  inhuman  measures  of  the 
then  Government,  was  permitted  with  impunity  to  run 
into  a  licentiousness  of  action,  as  a  useful  pubhc  man, 
which  no  modern  government  would  or  dare  permit.  At 
the  period  of  wliich  we  write,  there  was  no  press,  so  to 
speak,    in  Ireland,  and  consequently  no  opportunity 
of  at  once  bringing  the  acts  of  the  Irish  Government  or 
of  public  men  to  the  test  of  pubhc  opinion.     Such  men, 
tlierefore,  as  Whitecraft  looked  upon  themselves  as  in- 
vested wnth  irresponsible  powder ;  and  almost  in  every 
instance  their  conduct  was  approved  of,  recognized,  and 
in  general,  rewarded  by  the  Government  of  the  day. 
The  Beresford  family  enjoyed  something  like  this  un- 
enviable privilege  during  the  rebellion  of  '98,  and  for 
sometime  afterwards.     We  have  alluded  to  Mrs.  Oxley, 
the  sheriff's  fat  wife  ;  whether  fortunately  or  unfortun- 
ately for  the  poor  sheriff,  who  had  some  generous  touches 
of  character  about  him,  it  so  happened  that  at  this  per- 
iod of  our  narrative  she  popped  off  one  day,  in  a  fit  of 
apoplexy,  and  he  found  himself  a  widow-er.     Now",  our 
acquaintance,  Fergus  O'Reilly,  who  was  as  deeply  dis- 
guised as  our  hero,  had  made  his  mind  up,  if  possible, 
to  bring  the  Rapparee  into  trouble.     This  man  liad  led 
his  patron  to  several  places  where  it  was  likely  that  the 
persecuted  priests  might  be  found,  and,  for  this  reason, 
Fergus  knew  that  he  was  serious  in  his  object  to  betray 
them.     This  unnatural  treachery  of  the  robber  enven- 
omed his  heart  against  him,  and  he  resolved  to  run  a 
risk  in  watching  his  motions.     He  had  no  earthly  doubt 
that  it  was  he  wdio  robbed  the  sheriff.     He  knew,  from 
furtive  observations,  as  well  as  from  general  report, 
that  a  discreditable  intimacy  existed  between  him  and 
Mary  Mahon.     Tliis  woman's  little  house  was  very 
convenient  to  that  of  Wliitecraft,  to  whom  slie  w\as  very 
useful  in  a  certain  capacity.     She  had  now  given  up 


WILLY    KEILLY.  305 

lier  trade  of  fortune-telling — a  trade  which,  at  that 
period,  in  consequence  of  the  ignorance  of  the  people, 
was  very  general  in  Ireland.  She  was  now  more  bene- 
ficially employed.  Fergus,  therefore,  confident  in 
his  disguise,  resolved  upon  a  bold  and  hazardous  stroke. 
One  evening,  a  wretched-looking  old  man,  repeating 
his  prayers,  with  beads  in  hand,  entered  her  cottage, 
which  consisted  of  two  rooms  and  kitchen  ;  and  after 
having  presented  himself,  and  put  on  his  hat — for  we 
need  scarcely  say  that  no  Catholic  ever  prays  covered 
— he  asked  lodging,  in  Irish,  for  the  night,  and  at  this 
time  it  was  dusk. 

''  Well,  good  man,"  she  replied,  ''  you  can  have  lodg- 
ings here  for  the  night.  God  forbid  I'd  put  a  poor 
wandherer  out,  an'  it  nearly  dark  !  " 

Fergus  stared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  understand  what 
she  said  ;  she,  however,  could  speak  Irish  right  well, 
and  asked  him  in  that  language  if  he  could  speak  no 
English — ^' Wuil  Bearlha  agiidf  ^^  (''Have  you  En- 
glish ^  ") 

"  Ha  neil  foccal  vaiin  Bearllia  agum.^^  (''I  haven't 
one  word  of  English.") 

"'  Well,"  said  she,  proceeding  with  the  following 
short  conversation  in  Irish,  ''you  can  sleep  here,  and 
I  will  bring  you  in  a  wap  o'  straw  from  the  garden, 
where  I  have  it  to  feed  my  cow,  which  his  honor  Sir 
Eobert  gives  me  grass  for  ;  he  would  be  a  very  kind 
man,  if  he  w^as  a  little  more  generous — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"Ay,  but  doesn't  he  hunt  an'  hang  an'  transport  our 
priests  f  " 

^' Why,  indeed,  I  believe  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in 
a  priest's  body ;  but  then  he's  of  a  different  religion— 
and  it  is'nt  for  you  or  me  to  construe  him  afther  our 
own  way.^' 

"  Vv^ell,  well,"  said  Fergus,  ''  it  isn't  liim  I'm  thinkin' 
of ;  but  if  I  had  a  mouthful  or  two  of  something  to  ait  I'd 
go  to  sleep;  for,  dear  knows,  I'm  tired  and  hungry." 


306  WILLY   REILLY. 

''Why,  then,  of  coorse  you'll  have  something  to  ait, 
poor  man,  and  while  you're  eatin'  it,  I'll  fetch  in  a  good 
bottle  0  staraw,  and  make  a  comfortable  shake-down 
for  you." 

'^  God  mark  you  to  grace,  avourneen  !  '^ 

She  then  furnished  him  with  plenty  of  oaten  bread 
and  mixed  milk,  and  while  he  was  helping  himself  she 
brought  in  a  large  bunch  of  straw,  which  she  shook  ouc 
and  settled  for  him. 

''  I  see,"  said  she,  ''that  you  have  your  blankets." 

^'  I  have,  acushla.  Cheerena,  but  this  is  darlin'  bread  ! 
arrah,  was  this  baked  upon  a  griddle,  or  against  the 
miiddhia  arran  f  "  * 

"  A  griddle  !  Why,  then,  is  it  the  likes  o'  me  would 
have  a  griddle  f  that  indeed  !  No  ;  but,  anyhow,  sure 
a  griddle  only  scalds  the  bread ;  but  you'll  find  tliat 
this  is  not  too  much  done  ;  bekaise  3"0u  know,  the  ould 
proverb,  '  a  raw  dad  makes  a  fat  lad.' " 

"  Trotli,"  replied  Fergus,  "  it's  good  bread  and  fills 
the  hoast  f  of  a  man's  body ;  but  now  that  Pve  made  a 
good  supper,  I'll  throw  myself  on  the  straw,  for  I  feel 
as  if  my  eyelids  had  a  millstone  apiece  upon  them.  I 
never  sthrip  at  night,  but  just  throws  my  blanket  over 
me  an'  sleeps  like  a  top.  Glory  be  to  God !  0  then 
there's  nothing  like  the  health,  ma'am  ;  may  God  spare 
it  to  us  !  Amin,  this  night !  " 

He  accordingly  tlwew  himself  on  the  shake-down  and 
in  a  short  time,  as  was  evident  by  his  snoring,  fell  in- 
to a  profound  sleep. 

This  was  an  experiment,  though  a  hazardous  one,  as 
we  have  said ;  but  so  i-dv  it  was  successful.  In  the 
course  of  half   an    hour  the  Red    Rapparee  came  in, 

*  The  muddhia  arran  was  a  forked  branch,  cut  from  a  tree,  and  shaped  like  an  inverted  V 
—thus,  A— with  a  small  stick  behind  to  s«ppi)rt  it  A  piece  of  hoop-iron  was  nailed  to  it  at 
the.bottom,  on  which  the  cake  rested— not  horizontal  ly  —but  opposite  the  Are.  When  one  si:l3 
was  done,  the  other  was  turned,  and  thus  It  was  baked. 

+  JBoa.«f— a  flgurative  term,  taken  from  a  braorffadoclo.  or  boaster ;  it  applies  to  anythin;^ 
that  is  hollow  or  deceitful ;  for  instance*,  wheusoai'^  iiotaDos  Miat  grow  unusually  lar^e  are 
cut  in  two  an  empty  space  is  found  in  the  centre,  and  that  potato  is  termed,  buast,  or  empty. 


WILLY   REILLY.  307 

dressed  in  his  uniform.  On  looking  about  him,  he  ex- 
claimed with  an  oath  : — 

*^  Who  in  heirs  fire  is  here  ?" 

^^  Why,"  replied  Mary  Mahon,  *' a  poor  ould  man 
tliat  axed  for  charity  and  a  lodgin'  for  the  night.'' 

^'  And  why  did  you  give  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  Bekaise  my  charity  to  him  may  take  away  some  of 
my  sins." 

^'  Some  of  your  devils  !  "  replied  the  savage  ;  ^'and  I 
think  you  have  enough  o'  them  about  you.  Didn't  you 
know  I  was  to  come  here  to-night,  as  I  do  every  night !" 

*' Youwordrinkin',"sherepHed;  ''and you're  drunk." 

*'  I  am  drunk,  and  I  will  be  drunk  as  often  as  I  can. 
It's  a  good  man's  case.  Why. did  you  give  a  lodgin'  to 
this  ould  vagabone  I  " 

'' I  tould  you  the  reason,"  she  replied;  ''but  3^ou 
needn't  care  about  him,  for  there's  not  a  word  of  En- 
glish in  his  cheek." 

"  Faith,  but  he  may  have  something  in  his  purse,  for 
all  that.     Is  he  ould  I " 

^^  A  poor  ould  man." 

"  So  much  the  betther  ;  be  the  livin'  I'll  thry  whether 
he  has  any  ould  coins  about  him.  Many  a  time — no,  I 
don't  say  many  a  time — but  twis't  I  did  it,  and  found  it 
well  worth  my  while  too.  Some  of  these  ould  scampers 
die  wid  a  purse  o'  goolden  guineas  under  their  head,  an' 
won't  confess  it  till  the  last  moment.  Who  knows 
what  this  ould  lad  may  have  about  him  ?  I'll  thry,  any- 
how,"saidthe  drunken  ruffian  ;  "  it's  not  aisy  to  give  up 
an  ould  custom,  Molly — the  sheriff,  my  darlin',  for  that. 
I  aised  him  of  hi*  fines,  and  was  near  strikin'  a  double 
blow — I  secured  his  pocket-book,  and  made  a  good 
attempt  to  hang  Willy  Reilly  for  the  robbery  into  the 
bargain.  Now,  d — n  it,  Molly,  didn't  I  look  a  gentle- 
man inliis  clothes,  shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  all  ?  wasn't 
it  well  we  secured  them  before  the  house  was  burned  % 
Here,"  he  added,  "take  a  sneeshin  of  this,"  pulling  at 


308  WILLY    EEILLY. 

the  same  time  a  pint  bottle  of  whiskey  out  of  his  pock- 
et; "  it'll  raise  your  spirits,  an'  I'll  see  what  cash  this  ould 
codger  has  about  him  ;  an'  by  the  way,  how  the  devil 
do  we  know  that  he  doesn't  understand  every  word  we 
say  1  SujDpose,  now  (hickup) — that  he  heard  me  say 
I  robbed  tlie  sheriff,  wouldn't  I  be  in  a  nice  pickle  I 
But,  tell  me,  can  you  get  no  trace  o'  Beilly  f  " 

''Devil  a  trace  ;  they  said  he  has  left  the  country." 
'^  If  I  had  what  that  scoundrel  has  promised  me  for 
fin  din'  him  out  or  securin'  him — here's — here's  to  you — 
I  say,  if  I  had,  you  and  I  would "  Here  he  point- 
ed with  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  as  much  as  to  say, 
they  would  try  another  climate. 

''  And  now,"  he  proceeded,  ''for  a  search  on  the  shake- 
down. Who  knows  that  the  ould  fellow  has  the  yellow 
boys  (guineas)  about  him  ?  "  And  he  was  proceeding 
to  search  Fergus,  when  Mary  flew  at  him  like  a  tigress. 
"Stop,  you  cowardly  robber!"  she  exclaimed; 
"  would  you  bring  down  the  curse  and  the  vengeance 
of  God  upon  both  of  us  !  We  have  enough  and  too 
much  to  answer  for,  let  alone  to  rob  the  ould  an'  the 
poor." 

"  Be  aisy  now,"  said  he,  "  I'll  make  the  search ;  sure 
Vm  undher  the  scoundrel  Whitecraft's  protection." 

"Yes,  you  are,  and  you're  undher  my  protection, 
too ;  and  I  tell  you,  if  you  lay  a  hand  upon  him  it'll 
be  worse  for  you." 

"  What — what  do  you  mane  ?  " 
"  It's  no  matter  what  I  mane;  find  it  out." 
''How  do  I  know  but  he  has  heard  us  f  " 
We  must  now  observe  tliat  Fergus's  style  of  sleeping 
was  admirably  adapted  for  his  purpose.    It  was  not  ac- 
companied by  a  loud  and  unbroken  snore  ;  on  tlie  con- 
trary, after  it  had  risen  to   tlie  highest  and   most  dis- 
agreeable intonations,  it  stopped  short,  with  a  loud  and 
indescribable  backsnort  in  his  nose,  and  then,   after   a 
lull  of  some  length,  during  which  he  groaned  and  mutter- 


WILLY    RETLLY.  309 

ed  to  himself,  lie  again  resumed  liis  sternutations  in  a 
manner  so  natural,  as  would  have  imposed  upon  tlie 
very  devil  himself,  if  he  had  been  present,  as  there  is 
little  doubt  he  was,  though  not  actually  visible  to  the 
eyes  of  his  two  agents. 

''  Listen  to  that,  "  replied  the  woman  ;  ''  do  you  think 
now,  he's  not  asleep  ?  and  even  if  he  was  sitting  at  the 
iire,  beside  us,  devil  a  syllable  we  said  he  could  un- 
derstand. I  spoke  to  him  in  English,  when  he  came 
in,  but  he  didn't  know  a  word  I  said.  " 

'*  Well,  then,  let  the  old  fellow  sleep  away,  I  won^t 
touch  him.  '^ 

''  Why,  now,  that's  a  good  boy — go  home  to  your 
barracks,  and  take  a  good  sleep  yourself.  " 

*'  Ay,  yes,  certainly  ;  but  have  you  Reilly's  clothes 
safe?  shoes,  silver  buckles,  and  all!" 

^'  Ay,  as  safe  as  the  head  on  your  shoulders ;  and 
upon  my  soul,  a  great  dale  safer,  if  you  rob  any  more 
sheriffs.  " 

''  Where  are  they,  then  V 

'^  Why,  the're  in  my  flat  box  behind  the  bed,  where 
nobody  could  see  them." 

''Very  well,  Molly,  that  will  do;  I  may  want  them 
wanst  more,  "  he  replied,  pointing  again  with  his  thumb 
over  his  shoulder,  towards Whitecraft's  residence;  ''so 
good  night,  be  a  good  girl,  and  take  care  of  3^ourself  " 

"  No, ''  she  replied  ;  "  but  you  be  a  good  boy,  and 
take  care  of  yourself"    And  so  they  parted  for  the  nigbt. 

The  next  day,  Fergus,  possessed  of  very  important 
evidence  against  the  fiapparee,  was  travelling  along  the 
public  road,  not  more  than  a  half  a  mile  from  the  resi- 
dence of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  when  whom  should  he 
meet  but  the  identical  sheriff,  on  horseback,  whom  the 
Rapparee  had  robbed.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  hat,  and 
asked  him  for  charity. 

"Help  a  poor  ould  man,  for  the  love  and  honor  of 
God  ?" 


310  WILLV    JvKlLLY. 

^'  Why  don't  yon  go  work — why  don't  you  go  work  V^ 
replied  the  sheriff. 

"  I  am  not  able,  sir,"  replied  Fergus ;  ''it  wouldn't  be 
good  for  my  health,    your  honor." 

''  Well,  pass  on,  and  don't  trouble  me  ;  I  have  noth- 
ing for  you." 

'^  Ah  !  thin,  sir,  if  you'd  give  me  a  trifle,  maybe  I'd 
make  it  worth  your  while." 

''  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  sheriff,  who  knew 
that  persons  like  him  had  opportunities  of  hearing  and 
knowing  more  about  local  circumstances,  in  conse- 
quence of  their  vagrant  life,  than  any  other  class  of 
persons  in  society.  *'  What  do  you  mean  by  what  you 
have  just  saidf 

''Aren't  you  the  sheriff,  sir,    that  was  robbed  some  . 
time  ago  f  | 

"lam." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  see  you  are  dressed  in  black  ;  and  I  hare 
of  the  death  of  the  misthress,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  what  you  hav( 
just  now  said — that  you  would  make  it  worth  my  while 
if  I  gave  you  alms  I" 

"  I  said  so,  sir,  and  I  can,  if  you  will  be  guided  by 
me. 

*'  Speak  out ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

*'  Would  you  like  to  see  the  man  that  robbed  you, 
sir  ?  and  would  you  know  him  if   you  did  see  him  T 

"  Unquestionably,  I  would  know  him.  They  say  it 
was  Reilly,  but  I  have  seen  Reilly  since,  and  although 
the  dress  was  the  same  which  Reilly  usually  wears,  yet 
the  faces  were  different." 

"  Is  your  honor  goin'  farl "  asked  Fergus. 

"No,  I  am  going  over  to  tliat  farm-house,  Tom 
Brady's;  his  family  are  all  ill  of  fever,  and  I  wish  to  do 
something  for  him.  I  am  about  to  make  him  my  land 
bailiff." 

"What  stay  will  you  make  there,  your  honor?" 


WII.LY    REll.LY.  311 

A  very   short  one,  not  more  tlian  ten  or  fifteen 


minutes/' 


*'  Would  it  be  inconvenient  for  your  honor  to  remain 
there  for  an  hour,  or  maybe  a  little  longer?" 

''For  what  purpose?  You  are  a  mysterious  old 
fellow." 

"  Eekaise  if  you'd  wish  to  see  the  man  that  robbed 
you,  I'll  undhertake  to  show  him  to  you,  face  to  face, 
within  that  time.     Will   your  honor  promise  this  ?" 

The  sheriff  paused,  upon  this  proposal,  coming  as  it 
did  from  such  an  equivocal  authority.  "  What," 
thought  he,  *'  if  it  should  be  a  plot  for  my  life,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  fines  which  I  have  been  forced  to  levy 
upon  the  Catholic  priests  and  bishops,  in  my  official 
capacity  I     God  knows  I  feel  it  to  be  a  painful  duty." 

*'  What  is  your  religion  I"  he  asked,  ''  and  why  should 
a  gentleman  in  my  condition  of  life  place  any  confi- 
dence upon  the  word  of  a  common  vagrant  like  you, 
who  must  necessarily  be  imbued  with  all  the  prejudices 
of  your  creed — for  I  suppose  you  are  a  Catholic  V^ 

^*  I  am,  sir  ;  but,  for  all  that,  in  half  an  hour's  time 
I'll  be  a  rank  Protestant." 

The  sheriff  smiled,  and  asked,  ''  How  the  devil's 
that?" 

"  You  are  dressed  in  black,  sir,  in  mournin'  for  your 
wife.  I  have  seen  you  go  into  Tom  Brady's,  to  give 
the  sick  creatures  the  rites  of  their  Church.  I  give 
notice  to  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  that  a  priest  is  there  ; 
and  my  word  to  you,  he  and  his  hounds  will  soon  be 
upon  you.  The  man  that  robbed  you  will  be  among 
them — no,  but  the  foremost  of  them  ;  and  if  you  don^t 
know  him,  I  can't  help  it — that's  all,  your  honor.'^ 

"  Well,"  replied  the  sheriff,  "  I  shall  give  you  noth- 
ing now  ;  because  I  know  not  whether  what  you  say 
can  be  relied  upon  or  not.  In  the  meantime,  I  shall 
remain  an  hour,  or  better,  in  Brady's  house ;  and  if 
your  words  are  not  liiade  good,  1  shall  send  to  Sir  Rob- 


312  WILLY    REILLY. 

ert  Wliitecraft  for  a  military  party  to  escort  me  home." 

*'I  know  your  honor,"  replied  Fergus,  "  that  Sir 
Robert  and  his  men  are  at  home  to-day ;  and  if  I  don't 
[ulfil  my  words,  I'll  give  your  honor  lave  to  whip  me 
through  the  country." 

"■  Well/'  said  the  sheriff  ^'  I  shall  remain  an  hour, 
or  an  hour  and  a  half,  in  Brady's  ;  but  I  tell  you  that 
if  your  are  deceiving  me  you  shall  not  escape  me ;  so 
look  to  it,  and  think  if  what  you  propose  to  me  is  hon- 
est or  not;  if  it  be  notj  woe  betide  you." 

Fergus  immediately  repaired  to  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft,  to  whom  he  represented  himself  as  a  poor  Prot- 
estant of  the  name  of  Bingham,  and  informed  him  that 
a  Popish  priest  was  then  in  Tom  Brady's  house,  adminis- 
tering the  rites  of  Popery  to  those  who  were  sick  in  the 
family. 

*'I  seen  him,  your  honor,  go  into  the  house;  and 
he's  there  this  minute.  If  your  honor  makes  haste 
you'll  catch  him.'' 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Sir  Robert  and 
his  crew  were  in  stirrups,  and  on  their  way  to  Tom 
Brady's  ;  and  in  the  meantime,  too,  the  sheriff,  dressed 
as  he  was  in  black,  came  outside  the  door,  from 
time  to  time,  more  in  apprehension  of  a  plot  against 
liis  life,  than  of  a  visit  from  Wliitecraft,  which  he  knew 
must  end  in  nothing.  Now,  Wliitecraft  and  his  fol- 
lowers, on  approaching  Brady's  house,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him — a  circumstance  which  not  only  confirmed  the 
baronet  in  the  correctness  of  the  information  he  had  re- 
ceived, but  also  satisfied  the  sheriff  that  the  mendicant 
had  not  deceived  him.  Rapid  was  the  rush  they  made  to 
Brady's  house,  and  the  very  first  that  entered  it  was 
the  Red  Rapparee.  He  was  about  to  seize  the  sheriff, 
whom  he  pretended  not  to  know  ;  but  in  a  moment, 
Sir  Robert  and  the  rest  entered,  when,  on  recognizing 
eacli  other,  an  explanation  took  place,  with  all  due 
apologies  to  the  functional'}',  who  said  : — 


WIJ.LY    KKILJ.Y.  olo 

"  The  mistake,  Sir  Robert,  is  very  natural.  I  cer- 
tainly have  a  clerical  appearance,  as  I  am  in  mourning 
for  my  wife.  I  trust  you  will  neither  hang  nor  trans- 
port me." 

*'  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  Mr.  Oxley :  but  I  only 
acted  on  information  received." 

''And  I  don't  doubt.  Sir  Robert,"  repHed  the  sheriff, 
''  that  the  person  who  gave  you  the  information  may 
have  been  deceived  himself  by  my  ecclesiastical  dress. 
I  am  sorry  you  have  had  so  much  trouble  for  nothing  ; 
but,  upon  my  soul,  I  feel  extremely  delighted  that  I 
am  not  a  priest." 

In  the  meantime,  the  sheriff  had  recognized  the  Rap- 
paree,  by  a  single  glance,  as  the  man  that  had  robbed 
him.  He  was  now  certain;  but  he  took  care  not 
to  bestow  the  least  sign  of  recognition  upon  him  ;  so 
far  from  that,  he  appeared  to  pay  no  attention  whatso- 
ever to  the  men ;  but  chatted  with  Sir  Robert  for  some 
time,  who  returned  home  deeply  disappointed,  though 
without  imputing  blame  to  his  informant,  who,  he 
thought,  was  very  naturally  misled  by  the  dress  of  the 
sheriff.  Fergus,  however,  apprehensive  of  being  in- 
volved in  the  prosecution  of  the  Rapparee,  and  thus  dis- 
covered, made  a  point  to  avoid  the  sheriff,  whose  cross- 
examination  a  consciousness  of  his  previous  life  led  him 
to  dread.  Still,  he  had,  to  a  certain  extent — thougli 
not  definitely^resolved  to  become  evidence  against 
him  ;  but  only  on  the  condition  of  previously  receiving 
a  full  pardon  for  his  own  misdeeds.  For  upwards  of  a 
month,  however,  the  sheriff  w^as  confined  to  his  bed, 
having  caught,  whilst  in  Brady's,  the  malignant  fevel 
which  then  raged  throughout  the  country. 


314  VriLLY    REILLY. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING   NOT    VERY    PLEASANT   FOR    ALL  PARTIES. 

The  position  of  England  at  this  period  was  anything 
but  an  easy  one.  The  Rebellion  of '45  had  commenced, 
and  the  young  Pretender  had  gained  some  signal  vic- 
tories. Independently  of  this,  she  was  alarmed  by  the 
rumor  of  a  French  invasion  on  her  southern  coast.  Ap- 
prehensive lest  the  Irish  Catholics,  galled  and  goaded 
as  they  were  by  the  influence  of  the  penal  laws,  and  the 
dreadful  persecution  which  they  caused  them  to  suffer, 
should  flock  to  the  standard  of  Prince  Charles,  himself 
a  Catholic,  she  deemed  it  expedient,  in  due  time,  to  re- 
lax a  little,  and  accordingly  she  '^  checked  her  hand, 
and  changed  her  pride."  Milder  measures  were  soon 
resorted  to,  during  this  crisis,  in  order  that,  by  a  more  lib- 
eral administration  of  justice,  the  resentment  of  the  suf- 
ferino-  Catholics  mio^ht  be  conciliated,  and  their  lovalty 
secured.  This,  however,  was  a  proceednig  less  of  jus- 
tice than  expediency,  and  resulted  more  from  the  act- 
ual and  impending  difficulties  of  England,  than  from 
any  sincere  wish,  on  her  part,  to  give  civil  and  religi- 
ous freedom  to  her  Catholic  subjects,  or  prosperity  to 
the  country  in  wdiich,  even  then,  their  numbers  largely 
predominated.  Yet,  singular  to  say,  when  the  Rebellion 
first  broke  out,  all  the  chapels  in  Dublin  were  closed, 
and  the  Administration,  as  if  guided  by  some  unintel- 
ligible infatuation,  issued  a  proclamation  commanding 
the  Catholic  priesthood  to  depart  from  the  city.  Those 
who  refused  this  senseless  and  impolitic  edict  were  threat- 
ened with  the  utmost  severity  of  the  law.  Harsh  as 
that  law  was,  the  Catholics  obeyed  it ;  yet  even  this 
obedience  did  not  satisfy  the  Protestant  part}^,  or  rather 
that  portion  of  them  who  were  active  agents  in  carrying 
out  this  imprudent  and  unjustifiable  rigor  at  such  a 


WILLY   REILLY.  315 

period.  They  were  seized  by  a  kind  of  panic,  and  im- 
agined that  a  broken  down  and  disarmed  people  might 
eng-ao'e  in  a  o>enertil  massacre  of  the  Irish  Protestants. 
Whether  this  incomprehensible  terror  was  real,  is  a 
matter  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  ;  or  whether  it  was 
assumed  as  a  justification  for  assailing  tlie  CatholitK 
in  a  general  massacre,  similar  to  that  which  they  ap- 
prehended, or  pretended  to  apprehend,  is  also  a  mat- 
ter of  question  ;  yet,  certain  it  is,  that  a  proposal  to 
massacre  them  in  cold  blood  was  made  in  the  Privy 
Council.  "  But,"  says  O'Connor,  "  the  humanity  of  the 
members  rejected  this  barbarous  proposal  and  crushed 
in  its  infancy  a  conspiracy,  hatched  in  Lurgan,  to  extir- 
pate the  Catholics  of  that  town  and  vicinity." 

In  the  meantime,  so  active  was  the  persecuting  spir- 
it of  such  men  as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest,  that  a 
great  number  of  the  unfortunate  priests  fled  to  the  Me- 
tropolis, where,  in  a  large  and  populous  city,  they  had  a 
better  chance  of  remaining  incogniti,  tlien  Avhen  living 
in  the  country,  exposed  and  likely  to  be  more  marked 
by  spies  and  informers.  A  very  dreadful  catastrophe 
took  place  about  this  time.  A  congregation  of  Catho- 
lic people  had  heard  Mass  upon  an  old  loft,  which  had 
for  many  years  beeu  decayed  ;  in  fact,  actually  rotten. 
Mass  was  over,  and  the  priest  was  about  to  give  them 
the  parting  benediction,  when  the  floor  went  down  with 
a  terrific  crash.  The  result  was  dreadful.  The  priest 
and  a  great  many  of  the  cong-regation  were  killed  on 
the  spot,  and  a  vast  number  of  them  wounded  and  maim- 
ed for  life.  Ihe  Protestant  inhabitants  of  Dublin  sym- 
pathized deeply  with  the  sufferers,  whom  they  relieved 
and  succored  as  far  as  in  them  lay,  and  by  their  re- 
monstrances Government  was  shamed  into  a  more  hu- 
mane administration  of  the  laws. 

In  order  to  satisfy  our  readers  that  we  have  not  over- 
drawn our  pictures  of  what  the  Catholics  suffered  in 
those  unhappy  times,  we  shall  give  a  quotation  from 


316  WILLY  r:p:illy. 

the  Messrs.  Chambers  of  Edinburgh,  themselves  fair 
and  liberal  men,  and  as  impartial  as  they  are  able  and 
well  informed. 

*^  Since  the  pacification  of  Limerick,  Ireland  had  been 
ruled  exclusively  by  the  Protestant  party,  who,  under 
the  influence  of  feelings  arising  from  local  and  religious 
antipathies,  had  visited  the  Catholics  with  many  sever- 
ities. The  oath  which  had  excluded  the  Catholics  fi'om 
office  had  been  followed,  in  1698,  by  an  act  of  the  Irish 
Parliament,  commanding  all  Romish  priests  to  leave  the 
kingdom,  under  the  penalty  of  transportation,  a  return 
from  which  was  to  be  punishable  by  death.  Another 
law  decreed  forfeiture  of  property  and  civil  rights  to  all 
who  should  send  their  children  abroad,  to  be  educated 
in  the  Catholic  Faith."  * 

Can  any  reasonable  being  doubt  for  a  moment,  that 
those  laws  were  laws  of  extermination  ?  In  the  mean- 
time, let  us  hear  the  Messrs.  Chambers  further : — 

"  After  the  death  of  William,  who  was  much  opposed 
to  severities  on  account  of  religion,  acts  of  still  greater 
rigor  were  passed,  for  preventing  the  growth  of  Poper}^. 
Any  child  of  a  Roman  Catholic,  who  should  declare 
himself  a  Protestant,  was  entitled  to  become  the  heir  of 
his  estate,  the  father  merely  holding  it  for  his  lifetime, 
and  having  no  command  over  it.  Catholics  were  made 
incapable  of  succeeding  to  Protestants,  and  lands,  pass- 
ing over  them,  were  to  go  to  the  next  Protestant  heir. 
Catholic  parents  were  prevented  from  being  gunrdians 
to  their  children;  no  Protestant  possessing  propert}^  wns 
to  be  permitted  to  marr}^  a  Catholic ;  and  Catholics  were 
renderedincapable  of  purchasing  land  property,  or  en- 
joying long  leases.  These  measures  naturally  render- 
ed the  Catholics  discontented  subjects,  and  led  to  much 
turbulence.  The  common  people  of  that  persuasion, 
being  denied  all  access  to  justice,  took  it  into  their  own 

*  "  History  and  the  Preseut  State  of  the  British  Empire."  Edinbui:gh :  W.  and  K.  CLimi- 
bera. 


WILLY    REILLY.  317 

hands,  and  acquired  all  those  lawless  habits  for  which 
they  have  since  been  remarkable.  Treachery,  cruelty, 
and  all  the  lower  passions,  were  called  into  vigorous 
exercise.  Even  the  Protestants,  for  their  own  sakes,  were 
often  obliged  to  connive  at  the  evasion  of  lav/s  so  ex> 
treinely  severe,  and  which  introduced  mu5h  difficulty 
in  their  dealings  with  Catholics ;  but  when  any  Prot- 
estant wished  to  be  revenged  upon  a  Catholic,  or  to 
extQrt  money  from  him,  he  found  in  these  laws  a  ready 
instrument  for  his  purpose.  By  an  additional  act,  in 
1726,  it  was  ordained  that  a  Roman  Catholic  priest, 
marrying  a  Protestant  to  a  Catholic,  should  suffer  death; 
and  in  order  that  legal  redress  might  be  still  less 
accessible  to  the  Catholics,  it  was  enacted,  in  1728,  that 
no  one  should  be  entitled  to  practise  as  an  attorney, 
who  had  not  been  two  years  a  Protestant." 

This  is  a  clear  and  succinct  epitome  of  the  penal  laws  ; 
true,  much  more  might  be  added;  but  it  is  enough  to 
say,  those  who  sow  the  wind  will  reap  the  whirlwind. 
It  i«  not  by  placing  restrictions  upon  creeds  or  cere- 
monies, ihat  religion  can  ever  be  checked,  much  less  ex- 
tinguished. Like  the  camomile  plant,  the  more  it  is 
trampled  on  the  more  it  wdll  spread  and  grow,  as  the 
rude  winds  and  the  inclemency  of  the  elements  only 
harden  and  make  more  vigorous  the  constitutions  of 
those  who  are  exposed  to  them.  In  our  state  of  the 
world,  those  who  have  the  administration  of  political 
laws  in  their  hands,  if  they  ever  read  history,  or  can 
avail  tliemselves  of  the  experience  of  ages,  ought  to 
know  that  it  is  not  by  severity  or  persecution  that  the 
affections  of  their  fellow-subjects  can  be  concihated. 
We  ourselves  once  knew  a  brutal  ruffian,  who  was  a 
dealer  in  fruit  in  the  little  town  of  Maynooth  and  whose 
principle  of  correcting  his  children  was  to  continue 
whipping  the  poor  things  until  tliey  were  forced  to 
laugh  !  A  person  was  one  day  present  when  lie  com- 
menced chastising  one  of  them — a  cliild  about  seven — 


318  WILLY    REILLY. 

upon  this  barbarous  principle.  This  individual  was 
then  young  and  strong,  and  something,  besides,  of  a 
pugihst ;  but  on  witnessing  the  affecting  efforts  of  the  lit- 
tle fellow  to  do  that  which  was  not  within  the  compass  of 
any  natural  effort,  he  deliberately  knocked  the  ruffian 
down,  after  having  first  remonstrated  with  him  to  no 
purpose.  He  arose,  however,  and  attacked  the  other, 
but,  thanks  to  a  good  arm  and  a  quick  eye,  he  prostrated 
him  again,  and  again,  and  again  ;  he  then  caught  him 
by  the  throat,  for  he  was  already  subdued,  and 
squeezing  his  windpipe  to  some  purpose,  the  fellow 
said,  in  a  choking  voice,  ''  Are  you  going  to  kill  me  !  " 

''  No,''  replied  the  other,  "  I  only  want  to  see  the 
length  of  your  tongue  ;  don't  be  alarmed,  the  whole 
thing  will  end  merrily  ;  come  now,  give  three  of  the 
heartiest  laughs  you  ever  gave  in  your  life,  or  down 
goes  your  apple-cart — you  know  what  that  means.'' 

*'I — I  c — a — n — t,"  said  he. 

^'  Yes,  you  can,"  replied  his  castigator,  *^  nothing  is 
more  easy  ;    come,  be  merry." 

The  caitiff,  for  he  was  a  coward,  and  wanted  bottom, 
upon  getting  a  little  wind,  whilst  the  other  held  him  by 
the  throat,  gave  three  of  the  most  ludicrous  but  disas- 
trous howls  that  ever  were  witnessed.  On  his  oppo- 
nent letting  him  go,  he  took  to  his  heels,  but  got  a  kick 
on  going  out  that  was  rather  calculated  to  accelerate 
his  flight.  Legislators,  therefore,  ought  to  know  that 
no  political  whipping  will  ever  make  a  people  laughat 
the  pleasure  of  it. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative.  England,  now  appre- 
hensive, as  we  have  said,  of  a  descent  of  the  French 
upon  her  southern  coast,  and  startled  by  the  successes 
of  the  young  Pretender,  who  had  cut  Cope's  army  to 
pieces,  deemed  it  expedient  to  send  over  the  celebrated 
Earl  of  Chesterfield  as  Viceroy,  with  instructions  to 
relax  the  rigor  of  the  laws,  and  conciliate  the  Catholics 
as  well  as  he  could  ;  so,  at  least,  as  to  prevent  them  from 


WILLY    REILLY.  319 

joining  the  Pretender,  whose  object  it  was  understood 
to  be  to  cross  the  frontier  and  march  upon  London. 
Lord  Chesterfield's  policy  afforded  great  gratification  to 
the  Catholics,  who  were  now  restored  to  their  usual 
privileges,  and  its  political  object  was  so  far  successful 
that,  as  we  have  said,  not  a  single  man  of  them  ever 
joined  the  Pretender.  Still,  the  liberal  Protestants,  or, 
as  they  were  termed,  the  patriotic  party,  were  not  sat- 
isfied with  the  mere  removal  of  the  Catholic  restrictions. 
L'eland  at  that  time  was  studded  with  men,  or  rather 
with  monsters,  like  Smellpriest  and  WJiitecraft,  who 
were  stained  witli  the  blood  of  their  fellow-subjects  and 
fellow-Christians.  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  especially, 
was  now  in  a  bad  position,  although  he  himself 
was  ignorant  of  it.  The  French  Ambassador  de- 
manded satisfaction,  in  the  name  of  his  Court  and  the 
French  nation,  for  the  outrage  that  had  been  commit- 
ted upon  a  French  subject,  and  by  which  international 
law  was  so  grossly  violated.  We  must  say  here  that 
Whitecraft,  in  the  abundance  of  his  loyalty  and  zeal, 
was  in  the  habit,  in  his  searches  after  priests  and  sus- 
pected lay  Catholics,  to  pay  domiciliary  visits  to  the 
houses  of  many  Protestant  magistrates,  and  even  gentle- 
men of  wealth  and  distinction  who  were  suspected,  from 
their  known  enmity  to  persecution,  of  harboring  Cath- 
olic priests  and  others  of  that  persuasion  ;  so  that,  in 
point  of  fact,  he  had   created    more  enemies  in    the 

country  than  any  man  living.  The  Marquis  of ,  Mr. 

Hastings,  Mr.  Brown,  together  with  a  great  number  of 
the  patriotic  party,  had  already  transmitted  a  petition  to 
the  Lord  Lieutenant,  under  the  former  Administration  ; 
but  it  was  not  attended  to,  the  only  ansAver  they  got 
having  been  a  simple  acknowledgment  of  its  receipt. 
This,  on  coming  to  Sir  Robert's  ears,  which  it  did  from 
one  of  the  underlings  of  the  Castle,  only  gave  a  spur  to 
his  insolence,  and  still  more  fiercely  stimulated  his  per- 
secuting spirit.     He   felt  conscious  that  Government 


320  WILLY    REILLY. 

would  protect  him,  or  rather  reward  him,  for  any  acts 
of  violence  which  he  miglit  commit  against  the  Catholic 
party,  and  so  far,  under  his  own  pet  Administration,  he 
was  right. 

The  petition  we  have  alluded  to  having  been  treated 
^  with  studied  contempt,  the  persons  and  party  already 
mentioned  came  to  the  determination  of  transmitting 
anotJier,  still  more  full  and  urgent,  to  the  new  Viceroy  ; 
whose  feeling  it  was,  for  the  reasons  we  have  stated,  to 
reverse  the  policy  of  his  predecessor. 

His  liberal  administration  encouraged  them,  there- 
fore, to  send  him  a  clear  statement  of  the  barbarous 
outrages   committed  by  such  men  as    Smellpriest  and 
Sir  Eobert  Whitecraft,  not  only  against  his  Majesty's 
Eoman  Catholic  subjects,  but  against  many  loyal  Prot- 
estant magistrates,  and  other  Protestants  of  distinction 
and  property,  merely  because  they  were  supposed  to 
entertain   a   natural   sympathy   for   their   persecuted 
fellow-subjects   and   fellow-countrymen.     They    said 
that  the  conduct  of  those  men,  and  of  the  Government 
that  had  countenanced  and  encouraged  them,  had  des- 
troyed the  prosperity  of  the   country  by  interrupting 
and  annulling  all  honafide  commercial  transactions  be- 
tween Protestant  and  Catholic ;  that  those  men  had  not 
only  transgressed  the  instructions  they   received  from 
his  predecessor,  but  all  those  laws  that  go  to  the  secur- 
ity of  life  and  property  ;  that  they  were  guilty  of  sev- 
eral cruel  and  atrocious  murders,  arsons,  and  false  im- 
prisonments, for  which  they  were  never  brought  to  ac- 
count; and  that,  in  fine,  they  were  steeped  in  crime 
and  blood,  because  they  knew  that  his  predecessor, 
ignorant,  perhaps,  of  the  extent  of  their  guilt,  threw 
his  shield  over  them,  and  held  them  irresponsible  to  the 
laws  for  those  savage  outrages. 

They  then  stated,  that,  in  tlieir  liumble  judgment, 
a  mere  relaxation  in  the  operation  of  tlie  severe  and  pe- 
nal laws  against  Catholics  would  not  be  an  act  of  saffi- 


WILLY    REILLY.  321 

cient  atonement  to  them  for  all  they  had  previously  suf- 
fered ;  that  to  overlook,  or  connive  at,  or  protect  those 
great  criminals  would  be  at  variance,  not  only  with  all 
principles  of  justice,  but  witli  the  spirit  of  the  British 
Constitution  itself,  which  never  recognizes,  much  less 
encourages,  a  wicked  and  deliberate  violation  of  its  own 
laws  ;  that  the  present  was  a  critical  moment,  which  de- 
manded great  judgment  and  equal  humanity  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  laws  in  IrelaUrd,  A  rebellion  was 
successfully  progressing  in  Scotland,  and  it  appeared  to 
them  that  not  only  common  justice  but  sound  policy 
ought  to  prompt  the  Government  to  attract  and  conciliate 
the  Catholic  population  of  Ireland,  by  allowing  them  to 
participate  in  the  benefits  of  the  Constitution,  which 
hitherto  existed  not  for  them,  thousands  of  whom,  find- 
ing their  country  but  a  bed  of  thorns,  might,  from  a 
mere  sense  of  relief,  or,  what  was  more  to  be  dreaded,  a 
spirit  of  natural  vengeance,  flock  to  the  standard  of  the 
Pretender. 

His  Excellency,  already  aware  of  the  startling  but 
just  demand  which  had  been  made  by  the  French  Am- 
bassador, for  the  national  insult  by  Whitecraft  to  his 
country,  was  himself  startled  and  shocked  b}^  the  atro- 
cities of  those  blood-stained  delinquents. 

His  reply,  however,  was  brief,  but  to  the  purpose. 

His  secretary  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  me- 
morial, and  stated  that  the  object  of  his  Excellency  was 
not  to  administer  the  laws  in  cruelty,  but  in  mercy ; 
that  he  considered  all  classes  of  his  Majesty's  subjects 
equally  entitled  to  their  protection,  and  that  with  re- 
spect to  the  persons  against  whom  such  serious  charges 
and  allegations  had  been  made,  he  had  only  to  say,  that, 
if  they  were  substantiated  against  them  in  a  court  of 
justice,  they  must  suffer  like  other  criminals.  ''  If  they 
can  be  proved,  Government  will  leave  them,  as  it 
would  any  common  felons,  to  the  laws  of  the  country. 
His  Excellency  is  determined  to  administer  those  laws 


322  WILLY    REILLY. 

with  the  strictest  impartiahty,  and  without  leaning  to 
any  particular  class  or  creed.  So  far  as  the  laws  will 
allow  him,  their  protection  shall  be  extended,  on  just 
and  equal  principles,  to  the  poor  and  to  the  rich,  to  tlie 
Catholic  and  to  the  Protestant." 

This  communication,  which  was  kept  strictly  secret, 

readied  the  Marquis  of at  a  critical  period  of  our 

narrative.  Whitecraft,  who  was  ignorant  of  it,  but 
sufficiently  aware  of  the  milder  measures  which  the 
new  Administration  had  adopted,  finding  that  the  trade 
of  priest-hunting  and  persecution  was,  for  the  present, 
at  an  end,  resolved  to  accelerate  his  marriage  with  Miss 
Folliard,  and  for  this  purpose  he  waited  upon  her  father, 
in  order  to  secure  his  consent.  His  obiect  was  to  re- 
tire  to  his  English  estates,  and  there  pass  the  remainder 
of  his  life  with  his  beautiful  but  reluctant  bride.  He 
paid  his  visit  about  two  o'clock,  and  was  told  that  Miss 
Folliard  and  her  father  were  in  the  garden.  H  ither  he  ac- 
cordingly  repaired,  and  found  the  squire,  his  daughter, 
and  Reilly  in  the  green-house.  When  the  squire  saw  him 
he  cried  out,  with  something  of  malicious  triumph : — 

*'  Hallo,  Sir  Eobert !  '  why  art  thou  so  pale,  young 
lover  1  why  art  thou  so  pale  I '  And  why  does  th}^  lip 
hang.  Sir  Robert  ?  New  men,  new  measures.  Sir  Rob- 
ert— and  so,  *  Othello's  occupation's  gone,'  and  the 
Earl  of  Chesterfield  goes  to  Mass  every  Sunday,  and 
is  now  able  to  repeat  his  2)(idereens  in  Irish." 

^^  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  pleasant,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  ' 
but  I'm  delighted  to  see  the  beautiful  state  of  3^our 
green-house— O  Miss  Folliard! — excuse  me.  Your 
back  was  to  me,  and  you  were  eng'ao'ed  in  trailinor 
that  beautiful  shrub  ;  allow  me  the  honor  of  shaking 
hands  with  you." 

^'  Sir  Robert,  I  bid  you  good- day,  but  you  see  that 
I  have  my  garden  gloves  on  ;  3^0 n  will  excuse  me." 

''  0  Miss  Folliard,"  he  replied,  "  your  will  is  the 
spirit  of  the  British  Constitution  to  me." 


WILLV    KEILLY.  323 

'^  A  spirit  wliich,  I  fear,  you  have  too  frequently  \'io- 
lated,  Sir  Robert;  but,  as  papa  says,  I  believe  your 
cruel  occupation  is  gone — at  least  I  hope  so." 

''  Gad,  you  got  it  there,  Sir  Robert,"  replied  her 
father,  laughing. 

"I  must  confess  it,"  replied  the  baronet;  ''but  I 
think,  in  order  to  ingratiate  myself  with  Miss  Folliard, 
I  shall  take  wliatever  side  she  recommends  me.  How, 
Mr.  Folliard,"  he  proceeded,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
Reilly — '' v^ hat  the  deuce  is  this?  Have  you  got 
Robinson  Crusoe  here  f 

"  We  have,"  replied  the  squire ;  ''  but  his  man  Friday 
has  got  married  to  a  Tipperary  woman,  and  he's  now  in 
quest  of  a  desert  island  for  him  and  her  to  settle  in." 

''I  think,  papa,"  said  Helen,  ''  that,  if  the  principles 
of  Sir  Robert  and  his  class  were  carried  out,  he  would 
not  have  far  to  go  to  look  for  one." 

''  Another  hit.  Bob,  you  dog — another  hit;  well  said, 
Helen — well  said,  I  say.  Crusoe,  you  villain,  hold  up 
your  head,  and  thank  God  you're  christened." 

'' Wid  de  help  o'  Gad  shir,  I  was  christened  afwhore, 
sure,  be  de  priesht." 

This  visit  occurred  about  six  weeks  after  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  new  Viceroy  to  the  Government  of  Ireland, 
and  about  five  after  the  sheriff's  illness. 

"•  Come,  Whitecraft,"  said  the  squire,  ''come,  and  let 
us  have  lunch  :  I'll  hold  a  crown,  I  give  you  as  good  a 
glass  of  Burgundy  as  you  gave  me  the  other  day,  and 
will  say  done  first." 

"  Won't  Miss  Folliard  join  us?"  asked  Whitecraft, 
looking  to  her  for  an  assent. 

"Why,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  her  father;  "won^t 
you  come,  Helen  ?  " 

"  You  know,  papa,  I  never  lunch." 

"  Gad,  and  neitlier  you  do,  Helen.  Come,  Sir  Robert, 
we  will  have  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  something  good 
to  wash  it  down  ;  come  along,  man  ;  Avhat  the  devil  are 


324  WILLY    REILLY. 

you  scrutinizing  poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe  for!  Come 
along,  I  say ;  the  old  chap  is  making  the  green-house 
thrive  ;  he  beats  Malcomson.  Here,  Malcomson,  you 
know  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  don't  you  !" 

'*Hout,  your  honor,  wha  dinna  ken  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft  ?  Isn't  his  name  far  and  near,  as  a  braw 
defender  o'  the  faith,  and  a  putter  down  o'  papistry  ?  " 
"By  the  way,  Malcomson," said  Sir  Robert,  "where 
did  you  get  Robinson  Crusoe,  by  which  I  mean  tliat 
wild-looking  man  in  the  green-house  I  " 

"  Saul,  sir,  it's  a  question  I  never  speered  at  him. 
He  cam^  here  as  a  gaberlunzie,  and  on  stating  tliat  he 
was  indoctrinated  in  the  sceence  of  buttany,  his  honor 
garred  me  employ  him.  De'il  hae'  but  the  truth  I 
tell — he's  a  clever  buttanist,  and  knows  a'  the  sceentific 
names,  aff-hand." 

"  So  that's  all  you  know  about  him  !''  said  Sir  Robert. 
"  He  has  a  devil  of  a  beard,  and  is  shockingly  dressed. 
Why  doesnt't  he  shave  f 

"Ou,  just  some  Papistry  nonsense,"  replied  the  gar- 
dener ;  "  but  we  ha'e  naething  to  do  wi'  that,  sae  lang's 
we  get  the  worth  o'  our  siller  out  o'  him." 

"Here's  a  shilling,  Malcomson,"  said  Sir  Robert. 
"  Na,  na,  your  honor;  a  shilling's  no  for  a  man  that 
understands  the  sceence  of  buttany  ;  a  shilling's  for  a 
flunky  in  levery ;  but  as  for  me,  I  couldna  con- 
scientiously condescend  upon  less  than  ten  o'  them,  or 
a  pund  British  ;  but  I'm  feart  that's  contrairy  maybe 
to  your  honor's  habits." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "I  have  no  more  sil- 
ver, and  so  I  leave  you  to  the  agreeable  society  of 
Robinson  Crusoe." 

Reilly  had  watched  Sir  Robert's  motions,  as  well  as 
his  countenance,  in  a  manner  as  furtive  as  possible. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  stared  at  him  broadly,  and  with 
a  stupid,  oafish  look,  and  again  placed  himself  in  such 
a  position  behind  the  range  of  flower-pots  which  were 


WILLY    REILLY.  325 

placed  upon  the  ledges,  that  he  could  observe  him  with- 
out being  perceived  himself.  The  force  of  habit,  how- 
ever, is  extraordinary.  Our  hero  was  a  man  exceeding- 
ly remarkable  for  personal  cleanliness,  and  consequent- 
ly made  a  point  to  wash  his  hands  morning  and  even- 
ing, with  peculiar  care.  Be  this  as  it  may,  tlie  lynx 
eye  of  Sir  Robert  observed  their  whiteness,  and  he  in- 
stantly said  to  himself,  '/  This  is  no  common  laborer  ; 
I  know  that  he  is  not,  from  the  Avhiteness  of  his  hands. 
Besides,  he  is  disguised  ;  it  is  evident  from  the  length  of 
his  beard,  and  the  unnecessary  coarseness  of  his  apparel. 
Then  his  figure,  the  symmetry  and  size  of  which  no  dis- 
guise can  conceal ;  this,  and  everything  else,  assures  m.e 
that  he  is  disguised,  and  that  he  is,  besides,  no  other  in- 
dividual than  the  man  I  want,  William  Reilly,  who  has 
been  hitherto  my  evil  genius ;  but  it  shall  go  hard  with 
me,  or  I  shall  be  his  now."  Such  were  his  meditations, 
h^  he  passed  along  with  the  squire,  to  join  him  at  lunch. 

When  they  had  left  the  garden,  Reilly  address'ed  his 
Cohen  Bawn  as  follows : — 

*'  Helen,  T  am  discovered." 

'^Discovered  !  merciful  heaven,  no  !" 

'^  Unquestionably,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it ;  it  is  cer- 
tain." 

''  But  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  certain?  " 

"  Because  I  observed  that  Whitecraft's  eyes  were 
never  off  my  hands  ;  he  knew  that  a  common  laborer 
could  not  possibly  have  such  hands  Helen,  I  am  dis- 
covered, and  must  fly." 

''  But  you  know  that  there  is  a  change  of  Administra- 
tion, and  that  the  severity  of  the  laws  has  been  relaxed 
against  Catholics." 

'^  Yes,  5^ou  told  me  so,  and  I  have  no  fear  for  myself : 
but  what  I  apprehend  is,  that  this  discovery,  of  which  I 
feel  certain,  will  precipitate  your  marriage  with  that 
miscreant ;  they  will  entrap  you  into  it ;  and  then  I  am 
miserable  forever," 


326  WILLY   REILLY. 

^'  Then,  William,  we  must  fly  this  very  nig-ht ;  we  will 
proceed  to  the  Continent,  to  some  Protestant  State, 
where  we  can  get  married  without  any  danger  to  tli^ 
clergyman  who  may  marry  us." 

"  It  is  all  that  is  left  for  us,"  replied  Reilly  ;  '^  I  should 
soon  erlose  my  life  than  you,  my  beloved  Helen;  and  now 
what  is  to  be  done  I  Fly  we  must ;  and  in  anticipation 
of  the  necessity  of  this  step  I  left  a  suit  of  clothes  with 
Lanigan  ;  or  rather  with  a  poor  widow,  who  was  a  pen- 
sioner of  mine,  a  Mrs.  Buckley,  from  whom  Lanigan 
got  them  and  has  them.  I  could  not  think  of  accom- 
panying you  in  this  vile  dress.  On  your  way  in,  try 
to  see  Lanigan,  and  desire  him  to  come  to  me.  There 
is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost ;  and,  my  dear  Helen,  show 
no  marks  of  agitation;  be  calm  and  firm,  or  we  are 
undone." 

^'  Rely  on  me,  dear  Reilly  :  rely  on  me  ;  I  shall 
send  Lanigan  to  you." 

She  left  him  and  went  to  her  room,  when  she  rang 
the  bell,  and  her  maid  Connor  came  to  her. 

^'  Connor,"  said  she,  ''  I  shall  not  be  able  to  dine  with 
papa  to-day,  especially  as  that  wretch  Whitecraft  is 
likely  to  dine  with  him.  Go  to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him 
to  come  to  me,  for  I  wish  to  know  if  he  has  anything 
light  and  delicate  that  he  could  send  to  my  room; 
Connor,  I  am  very  unhappy." 

^'  But,  miss,  sure  they  say  that  the  laws  are  changed, 
and  that  Mr.  Reilly  may  go  at  large  if  he  wishes." 

'^  I  know  that,  Connor ;  but  send  Lanigan  to  me 
immediately." 

When  Lanigan  entered,  he  found  the  Coleen  Baivn 
in  tears. 

'•My  God,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  he,  '^what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  why  are  you  crying,  or  what  have 
they  done  to  5"oul" 

''  Lanigan,"  she  replied,  wiping  lier  eyes,  **you  and 
Connor  only  are  in  our  secret;  we  must  fly  this  night." 


WILLY    REILLY.  327 

"  This  night,  Miss  Folliard  I " 

'^  This  night,  Lanigan  ;  and  you  must  assist  us." 

''To  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  I  will." 

*'  Lanigan,  Reilly  is  discovered." 

*' Discovered,  miss!  good  God,  how  was  he  discov- 
ered!" 

''  By  his  hands,  by  the  whiteness  of  his  beautiful 
hands.  Now,  Lanigan,  Sir  Robert,  aware  that  he  can- 
not act  the  tyrant  at  present,  as  he  used  to  do,  will 
instigate  my  father  to  some  act  of  outrage  against  him; 
for  you  know,  Lanigan,  how  cowardly,  how  cruel,  how 
vindictive  the  detestable  villan  is  ;  and  most  assuredly 
he  will  make  my  credulous  and  generous,  but  hot- 
tempered  father,  the  instrument  of  his  vengeance  upon 
Reilly ;  and  besides,  he  will  certainly  urge  him  to 
bring  about  an  immediate  marriage  between  himself 
and  me ;  to  which,  it  is  true,  I  would  and  will  die, 
sooner  than  consent.  I  will  dine  here,  Lanigan,  for 
I  cannot  bear  to  look  upon  my  dear  father,  whom  I  am 
about  to — "  Here  her  tears  interrupted  her,  and  she 
could  pi'oceed  no  further ;  at  length  she  recovered  her- 
self, and  resumed.  "I  know,"  she  added,  ''that  White- 
craft  is  now  detailing  his  discovery  and  his  plans.  0 
that,  for  ReiUy's  sake,  I  could  become  acquainted  with 
them  !  " 

"What  would  you  wish  for  dinner.  Miss  Folliard  I" 
asked  Lanigan,  calmly. 

"  For  dinner  !  0  anything,  anything;  I  care  not 
what ;  but  see  Reilly ;  tell  him  I  have  a  second  key 
for  the  back  gate  in  the  garden,  and  also  for  the  front; 
and  Lanigan — " 

"  Well,  Miss  Folliard  ;  but  for  God's  sake,  don't  cry 
so  ;  your  eyes  will  get  red,  and  your  father  may  notice 
it." 

"  True,  thank  you,  Lanigan  ;  and  Reilly,  besides, 
told  me  to  keep  myself  calm ;  but  how  can  T,  Lani- 
gan !     0  my  father !  my  beloved  father !  how  can  I 


328  WILLY    KEILLY. 

abandon— desert  him  ?  No,  Lanigaii,  I  will  not  go  ; 
say  to  Reilly— say  I  have  changed  my  mind;  tell  him 
that  my  affection  for  my  father  has  overcome  my  love 
for  him  ;  say  I  will  never  marry — that  my  heart  is  his, 
and  never  will  or  can  be  another's.  But  then  again — 
he,  the  noble  minded,  the  brave,  the  generous,  the  dis- 
interested—alas !  I  know  not  what  to  do,  Lanigan, 
nor  how  to  act.  If  I  remain  here,  they  will  strive  to 
force  this  odious  marriage  on  me ;  and  then  some  fear- 
ful catastrophe  will  happen ;  for  sooner  than  marry 
Whitecraft,  I  would  stab  either  him  or  myself.  Either 
that,  Lanigan,  or  I  should  go  mad ;  for,  do  you  know 
Lanigan,  that  there  is  insanity  in  our  family,  by  my 
father's  side  !" 

'^  Unfortunately  I  know  it,  Miss  Folliard  ;  your  uncle 
died  in  a  mad-house,  and  it  was  in  that  way  the  estate 
came  to  your  father.  Bat  remember  what,  you  say,  Mr. 
Eeilly  told  you  :  be  calm ;  I  will  send  up  some  light, 
nourishing  dinner  to  you,  at  the  usual  hour ;  and  in  the 
meantime,  I  will  see  him  before  then,  and  forge  some 
excuse  for  bringing  it  up  myself." 

^'  Stay,  Lanigan  ;  I  am  sadly  perplexed  ;  I  scarcely 
know  what  I  say  ;  I  am  in  a  state  of  inconceivable  dis- 
traction Suppose  I  should  change  my  mind ;  it  is 
not  unlikely  ;  I  am  whirled  about  by  a  crowd  of  con- 
tending emotions ;  but — well — let  me  see — 0  yes, — it 
will  be  as  well,  Lanigan,  to  have  two  horses  read}^  sad- 
dled ;  that  is  no  crime,!  hope,  if  we  should  go.  I 
must  of  course  put  on  my  riding  habit." 

^'  Begging  your  pardon,  Miss  Folliard,  you'll  do  no 
such  thing ;  would  you  wish  to  have  yourself  discovered 
here  in  the  first  inn  you  might  put  up  at  ?  No ;  dress 
yourself  in  one  of  Connor's  dresses,  so  that  you  may 
appear  as  humble  as  possible,  and  anything  but  a  lady 
of  rank  ;  otherwise,  it  will  be  difficult  for  you  to  escape 
observation." 

*'  Well,  Lanigan,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  he  and  I  shall 


WILLY   REILLY.  323 

place  ourselves  under  your  advice  and  guidance.  But 
my  father — 0  my  dear  father  !"  And  again  she  wrung 
her  liands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

^'Miss  Helen," said  he,  ''as  sure  as  the  Lord's  in 
heaven,  you  will  discover  yourself ;  and,  after  all,  liow 
do  you  know  that  Sir  Robert  has  found  out  Mr.  Reilly  ? 
Sure  it's  nothing  but  bare  suspicion  on  both  your  parts. 
At  any  rate,  I'll  saddle  Paudeen  O'Rafferty  wid  my 
own  hands,  and  I'll  put  on  Molly  Crudden's  big  pil- 
lion, for  you  know  she's  too  fat  to  walk  to  Mass,  and 
you  will  feel  yourself  quite  easy  and  comfortable  in 
it." 

"  No,  no,  Lanigan ;  I  know  not  why  the  impression 
is  on  me  ;  but  I  feel  as  if  I  were  never  to  experience 
comfort  more.  Go  to  Mr.  Reilly ;  make  what  arrange- 
ments he  and  you  may  think  proper,  and  afterwards 
you  can  acquaint  me  with  them.  You  see,  Lanigan, 
in  what  a  state  of  excitement  and  uncertainty  I  am.  But 
tell  Reilly  that  if  he  insist  upon  it,  I  shall  fly  with  him." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

REILLY's    disguise    penetrated — HE     ESCAPES — FERGUS 

REILLY  IS  ON  THE  TRAIL  OF   THE  RAPPAREE SIR   ROBERT 

BEGINS  TO  FEEL  CONFIDENT  OF    SUCCESS. 

Lanigan,  on  passing  the  dining-parlor,  heard  what 
he  conceived  to  be  loud  and  angry  voices  inside  the 
room,  and  as  the  coast  was  clear,  he  deliberately  put 
his  ear  to  the  key-hole,  through  which  his  ear  drank 
the  following  conversation  : — 

"  I  say,  Sir  Robert,  I'll  shoot  the  villain.  Do  not 
hold  me.  My  pistols  are  unloaded  and  loaded  every 
day  in  the  year  ;  and  ever  since  I  transported  that  d — d 
])riest  I  never  go  without  them.  But  are  you  sure,  Sil: 
Robert  1     Is  it  not  possible  you  may  be  mistaken  ?     I 


330  WILLY    REILLY. 

know  you  are  a  suspicious  fellow ;  but  irtill,  as  I  said, 
you  are,  for  that  very  reason,  the  more,  liable  to  be 
wrong.  But  if  it  is  he,  what's  to  be  done  unless  I  shoot 
him  I" 

*'  Under  the  last  Administration,  sir,  I  could  have 
answered  your  question ;  but  you  know  that  it  you 
shoot  him  now  vou  shall  be  han^-ed  All  that's  left  for 
us  is  simply  to  effect  this  marriage  the  day  after  to- 
morrow ;  the  documents  are  all  ready,  and  in  the 
course  of  to-morrow  the  license  can  be  procured.  In 
the  meantime,  you  must  dispatch  him  to-night." 

'*  What  do  yoLi  mean,  Sir  Robert  T' 

*'I  say  you  must  send  him  about  his  business.  In 
point  of  fact,  I  think  the  fellow  knows  that  he  is  dis- 
covered, and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he  may  make  an 
effort  to  carry  off  your  daughter  this  very  night.'' 

^'But,  sir  Robert,  can  we  not  seize  him  and  sur- 
render him  to  the  authorities  ?     Is  he  not  an  outlaw  !  ^ 

"  Unfortunately,  Mr.  FolHard,  he  is  not-dn  outlaw; 
I  stretched  a  little  too  far  there.  It  is  true,  I  got  his 
name  put  in  the  Hue-and-Cryj  but  upon  representa- 
tions which  I  cannot  prove." 

*'  And  why  did  you  do  so.  Sir  Robert." 

* '  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  to  save  your  daughter.'^ 

The  old  man  paused. 

^' Ah,"  he  exclaimed,^'  that  is  a  bad  business — I  mean 
for  you.  Sir  Robert ;  but  we  will  talk  it  over.  You 
shall  stop  and  dine  with  me  ;  I  want  some  one  to  talk 
with — some  one  who  will  support  and  keep  me  in  spirits ;  " 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  sobbed  bitterly.  **  I  wish  to  God," 
he  exclaimed,  "  that  neither  I  nor  Helen — my  dear 
Helen — had  ever  seen  that  fellow's  face.  You  will 
dine  with  me.  Bob  ?  " 

**  I  will,  upon  the  strict  condition  that  you  keep 
yourself  quiet,  and  won't  seem  to  understand  any- 
thing* 

*^  Would  you  recommend  me  to  lock  her  up  ?" 


WILLY   REILLY.  331 

'*By  no  means;  that  would  only  make  matters 
worse.  I  shall  dine  with  you ;  but  you  must  be  calm 
and  quiet,  and  not  seem  to  entertain  any  suspicions." 

"Very  well,  I  shall  ;  but  what  tlie  devil  has  become 
of  our  lunch  !     Touch  the  bell." 

This  hint  sent  Lanigan  down -stairs,  who  met  the  but- 
ler coming  up  with  it. 

^'  Why,  Pat,"  said  he,  ''what  kept  you  so  long*  with 
the  lunch?" 

'^  I  was  just  thinking,"  replied  Pat,  '^  how  it  would  be 
possible  to  poison  that  ugl}",  ill-made,  long-legged 
scoundrel,  without  poisoning  my  master.  What's  to  be 
done,  Lanigan  ?  He  will  marry  this  darlin'  in  spite  of 
us.  And,  sure,  now  we  have  our  privileges  once  more, 
since  this  great  Earl  came  to  rule  over  us ;  and  sure,  they 
say,  he's  a  greater  gentleman  than  the  king  himself  All 
I  can  say  is,  that,  if  he  forces  the  Coleen  Bawn  to  such 
an  unnatural  marriage,  I'll  try  a  dose,  hit  or  miss  for  a 
co'wheel,  anyway." 

Lanigan  laughed,  and  the  butler  passed  on  with  the 
lunch. 

We  may  state  here,  that  the  squire,  notwithstanding 
his  outspoken  manner  against  Popery,  like  a  terrible  rev- 
erend baronet  not  long  deceased,  who,  notwithstanding 
hisdiscovery  of  the  most  awful  Popish  plots,  and  notwith- 
standing the  most  extravagant  denunciations  against  Po- 
pery, like  him,  we  say,  the  old  squire  seldom  had  a  Prot- 
estant servant  under  his  roof.  Pat  hated  Longshanks, 
as  he  termed  him,  as  did  all  the  household;  which,  in- 
deed, was  very  natural,  as  he  was  such  a  notorious  per- 
secutor of  their  religion  and  their  clergy. 

Lanigan  lost  no  time  in  acquainting  Reilly  with  what 
he  had  heard,  and  the  heart  of  the  latter  palpitated 
with  alarm  on  hearing  tliat  tlie  next  day  but  one  was 
likely  to  join  his  Coleen  BawUy  by  violent  and  unnatur- 
al proceedings,  to  the  man  whom  she  so  much  detested. 
He  felt  it  w^as  now  time  to  act,  in  order  to  save  her. 


332  WILLY   REILLY. 

Arrangements  were  consequently  made  between  them, 
as  to  the  time  and  manner  of  their  escape ;  and  those 
arrangements,  together  with  the  dialogue  he  had  over- 
heard, Lanigan  communicated  to  the  Coleen  Bawn. 

The  squire  on  that  day  experienced  strange  alterna- 
tions of  feeling.  His  spirits  seemed  to  rise  and  sink, 
as  the  quicksilver  in  the  glass  is  affected  by  the  state  of 
the  atmosphere.  He  looked  into  the  future  with  terror, 
and  again  became,  to  the  astonishment  of  liis  guest — we 
now  talk  of  their  conduct  after  dinner — actuated  by 
some  thought  or  impulse  that  put  him  into  high  spirits. 
Whitecraft,  cool  and  cautious,  resolved  to  let  him  have 
his  way ;  for  the  squire  was  drinking  deeply,  and  the 
Burgundy  was  good  and  strong. 

"Bob,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "you  don't  drink,  and  that 
is  a  bad  sign.  You  have  either  a  bad  head  of  late,  or 
a  bad^ieart,  which  is  worse.  D — n  you,  sir,  why  don't 
you  drink  ?  I  have  seen  you  lay  lots  of  my  guests 
under  the  table,  when  you  were  as  cool  as  hell ;  but 
now,  what  the  devil  are  you  at  ?  They  can't  run  away 
to-night — Helen  doesn't  know  that  the  discovery  has 
been  made.  And  now,  Bob,  you  dog — listen  to  me,  I 
say — would  you  have  had  the  manliness  and  courage  to 
expose  yourself  for  the  sake  of  a  pretty  girl,  as  he  did  ! 
— that  is — here's  a  bumper  to  Helen  !  Curse  you,  will 
nothing  make  you  drink  f  No,  faitli,  he  hadn't  seen 
Helen  at  the  time,  it  was  for  a  worthless  old  fellow  like 
me  tliathe  exposed  himself;  but  no  matter,  you  may  be 
right ;  perhaps  it  ivas  a  plot  to  get  acquainted  with  her. 
Still  I'm  not  sure  of  that ;  but  if  it  was,  I'll  make  him 
smart." 

After  dinner  the  squire  drank  deeply,  so  deeply,  in- 
deed, that  Whitecraft  was  obliged  to  call  up  some  of  the 
male  servants  to  carry  him  to  his  chamber  and  put  him 
to  bed.  In  this  task  Lanigan  assisted,  and  thanked  his 
stars  that  he  was  incapacitated  from  watching  the  lovers, 
or  taking  any  means  to  prevent  their  escape.     As  for 


WILLV    KKILLV.  333 

Wliitecraft,  thought  he,  I  will  soon  send  him  about  his 
business.  Now  this  gentleman's  suspicions  were  the 
more  deeply  excited,  in  consequence  of  Helen's  refusal 
to  meet  him  at  either  lunch  or  dinner  ;  a  refusal  which 
she  gave  on  the  plea  of  indisposition.  He  had,  there- 
fore, made  up  his  mind  to  watch  the  motions  of  Coleen 
Baivn^  and  he  would  have  included  Reilly  in  his  surveil- 
lance, w^ere  it  not  that  Lanigan  informed  him  of  what 
he  termed  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  under- 
garden  er. 

''  What ! "  exclaimed  Whitecraft,  "  is  he  gone  ?  " 

^'  He  is  gone.  Sir  Robert ;  and  left  his  week's  wages 
behind  him,  for  he  never  came  to  the  steward  to  ask  it. 
And  now,  Sir  Robert,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not 
sorry  he's  gone  ;  he  was  a  disagreeable  old  fellow,  that 
nobody  could  make  neither  head  or  tail  of;  but  Sir 
Robert,  listen — wait,  sir,  till  I  shut  the  door — it  will  soon 
be  gettin'  dusk :  you  know  you're  not  liked  in  the  coun- 
try, and  now  that  tve,  I^mean  the  Catholics,  have  the 
countenance  of  Government,  I  think  riding  late  won't 
be  good  for  your  health.  The  night  air,  you  know,  isn^t 
wholesome  to  some  people.  I  am  merely  givin'  you  a 
hint.  Sir  Robert,  bekaise  you  are  a  friend  of  my  mas- 
ther's  and  I  hope,  for  your  own  sake,  you'll  take  it. 
The  sooner  you  mount  your  horse  the  better,  and  if  you 
be  guided  by  me,  you'll  try  and  reach  your  own  house 
before  the  darkness  sets  in.  Who  knows  what  Reilly  may 
be  plotting  !  you  know  he  doesn't  like  a  bone  in  your 
honor's  skin  ;  and  the  Reillys  are  cruel  and  desperate." 

^'But,  Lanigan,  are  you  aware  of  any  plot  or  con- 
spiracy that  has  been  got  up  against  my  life  1 " 

''  Not  at  all,  your  honor;  but  I  put  it  to  yourself, 
sir,  whether  you  don't  feel  that  I'm    speaking  truth  ?  " 

''I  certainly  know  very  well,"  replied  the  baronet, 
''  that  I  am  exceedingl}'  unpopular  with  the  Popish 
party  ;  but  in  my  conduct  towards  them  I  only  carried 
out  the  laws  that  had  been  passed  against  them." 


334  WILLY   REILLY. 

^'  I  know  that,  Sir  Robert,  and,  as  a  Catholic,  I  am 
sorry  that  you  and  others  were  supported  and  egged 
on  by  such  laws.  Why,  sir,  a  hangman  could  give  the 
same  excuse,  because,  if  he  put  a  rope  about  your  neck 
and  tied  his  d — dknotnately  under  your  left  ear,  what 
was  he  doin'  but  fuliillin'  the  law  as  you  did "?  And 
now,  Sir  Robert,  who  the  devil  would  shake  hands 
with  a  hajigman,  unless  some  unfortunate  highway  rob- 
ber or  murderer,  that  gives  him  his  hand  because  he 
knows  that  he  will  never  see  his  purty  face  again  ?  This 
discourse  is  all  folly,  however — you  haven't  a  minute 
to  lose — shall  I  order  your  horse  I  " 

''  Yes,  you  had  better,  Lanigan,"  replied  the  other, 
with  a  dogged  appearance  of  cowatdice  and  revenge. 
He  could  not  foro-ive  Lanior'an  the  illustration  that  in- 
volved  the  comj^arison  of  the  hangman  ;  still,  his  con- 
science and  his  cowardice  both  whispered  to  him  that 
the  cook  was  in  the  right. 

This  night  was  an  eventful  one.  The  course  of  our 
narrative  brings  us  and  our  readers  to  the  house  of 
Captain  Smellpriest,  who  had  for  his  next-door  neigh- 
bor the  stalwart  curate  of  the  parish,  the  Rev.  Samson 
Strong,  to  whom  some  allusion  has  been  already  made 
in  these  pages.  Now  the  difference  between  Smell- 
priest  and  Whitecraft  was  this — Smellpriest  was  not 
a  magistrate,  as  Whitecraft  was,  and  in  his  priesthunt- 
ing  expeditions  only  acted  upon  warrants  issued  by 
some  bigoted  and  persecuting  magistrate  or  other,  who 
lived  in  the  district.  But  as  his  propensity  to  hunt 
those  unfortunate  persons  was  known,  the  execution  of 
the  warrants  was  almost  in  every  instance  intrusted  to 
his  hands.  It  was  not  so  with  Sir  Robert,  who,  being 
himself  a  masj-istrate,  mig-ht  be  said  to  have  been  in  the 
position  at  once  of,  judge  and  executioner.  At  all 
events,  the-race  of  blood  was  pretty  equal  between 
them,  so  far  as  the  clergy  were  concerned;  but  in 
general  enmity  to  the  Catholic  community  at  large, 


WILLY   REILLY.  335 

Wliiteeraft  was  far  more  cruel  and  comprehensive  In 
his  vengeance.  It  is,  indeed,,  an  observation  founded 
upon  truth  and  experience,  that  in  all  creeds,  in  pro- 
portion to  his  ignorance  and  bigotry,  so  is  the  violence 
of  the  persecutor.  Whitecraft,  the  self-constituted 
champion  of  Protestantism,  had  about  as  much  religion 
as  the  devil  himself, ^or  indeed  less,  for  we  are  told  that 
the  devil  believes  and  trembles,  while  Whitecraft, 
on  the  contrary,  neither  believed  nor  trembled.  But 
if  he  did  not  fear  God,  he  certainly  feared  man,  and  on 
the  night  in  question  went  home  with  as  craven  a  heart 
— thanks  to  Lanigan — as  ever  beat  in  a  coward's  bosom. 
Smellpriest,  however,  differed  from  Whitecraft  in 
many  points;  he  was  brave,  though  cruel;  and  ad- 
dicted to  deep  potations.  Whitecraft,  it  is  true,  drank 
more  deeply  still  than  he  did,  but  by  some  idiosyncrasy 
of  stomach  or  constitution,  it  had  no  more  effect  upon 
him  than  it  had  upon  the  cask  from  which  it  had  been 
drawn,  unless,  indeed,  to  reduce  him  to  greater  so- 
briety and  sharpen  his  prejudices. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong  made  his 
appearance  in  Smellpriest's  house,  with  a  warrant,  or 
something  in  the  shape  of  one,  which  lie  placed  in  the 
gallant  captain's  hands,  who  was  drunk. 

''  What's  this,  O  Samson  the  Strong!"  said  Smell- 
priest,  laughing  and  hickupping  both  at  the  same  time. 

^*  It's  a  hunt,  my  dear  friend.  One  of  those  priests 
of  Baal  has  vmited,  in  unholy  bonds,  a  Protestant  sub- 
ject with  a  subject  of  the  harlot  of  abominations." 

"  Samson,  my  buck,"  said  Smellpriest,  ^*  I  hope  this 
Popish  priest  of  3"ours  will  not  turn  out  to  be  a  wild 
goose.  You  know  you  have  sent  me  upon  many  a 
wild-goose  chase  before ;  in — in — in  fact,  you  nev — - 
never  sent  me  upon  any  other.  You're  a  blockhead, 
0  divine  Samson ;  and  tliat  thick  head  of  yours  would 
flatten  a  cannon-ball.  But  wliat  is  it ! — an  intermar- 
riage between  the  two  Fs— Popish  and   Protestant!" 


336  WILLY   REILLY. 

'^  My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  ''  yon  must  be  aware  that 
the  Popishers  have  only  got  liberty  to  clatter  their 
beads  in  public ;  but  not  to  marry  a  Popislier  to  aProtest- 
anter.  This  is  a  glorious  opportunity  for  you  to  come 
home  with  a  feather  in  your  cap,  my  dear.  Has  he  fnr 
to  go,  Mr.  Strong?  because  he  never  goes  out  after  the 
hlach  game,  as  you  call  them,  sir,  that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
— but  I  can't  express  what  I  feel  at  his  dear  absence." 

Now  we  have  said  that  Smellpriest  was  drunk,  which, 
in  point  of  fact,  was  true  ;  but  not  so  drunk  but  that 
he  observed  some  intelligent  glances  pass  between  his 
wife  and  the  broad-shouldered  curate. 

/'No,  Madam;  only  about  two  miles.  Smellpriest, 
you  know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe  I " 

''Yes — I  know  Jack  Houlaghan's  stripe,  in  Kil- 
rudden." 

"  Well,  when  you  get  to  the  centre  of  the  stripe, 
look  a  little  to  your  right,  and — as  the  night  is  light 
enough— you  will  see  a  house — a  cottage,  rather  ;  to 
this  cottage  bring  your  men,  and  there  you  will  find 
your  game.  I  would  not,  captain,  under  other  circum- 
stances, advise  you  to  recruit  your  spirits  with  an  ad- 
ditional glass,  or  two  of  liquor ;  but  as  the  night  is  cold, 
I  really  recommend  you  to  fortify  yourself  with  a  little 
refreshment." 

He  was  easily  induced  to  do  so,  and  he  accordingly 
took  a  couple  of  glasses  of  punch,  and  when  about  to 
mount  his  horse,  it  was  found  that  he  could  not  do  so 
without  the  assistance  of  his  men  who  were  on  duty,  in 
all  about  six,  every  one  of  whom,  as  well  as  the  cap- 
tain himself,  was  well  armed.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
state  to  the  reader  that  the  pursuit  was  a  vain  one. 
They  searched  the  house  to  no  purpose  ;  neither  priest 
nor  friar  was  there,  and  he,  consequently,  had  the  satis- 
faction of  performing  another  Avild-  goose  chase  with 
his  usual  success.  In  tlie  meantime  the  moon  went  down 
and  the  night  became  exceedingly  dark  ;  but  the  cap- 


WILLY   REILLY.  337 

tain's  spirits  were  high  and  boisterous,  so  much  so, 
that  they  began  to  pat  themselves  forth  in  song  ;  the 
song  in  question  being  the  once  celebrated  satire  upon 
James  the  Second  and  Tyrconnell,  called''  Lillibullero," 
now  "the  Protestant  Boys."  How  this  song  gained 
so  mucli  popularity  it  is  difficult  to  guess,  for  we  are 
bound  to  say  that  a  more  pointless  and  stupid  produc- 
tion never  came  from  the  brain  of  man.  But  be  this  as  it 
may,  we  must  leave  the  gallant  captain  and  his  gang 
singing  it  in  full  chorus,  and  request  our  readers  to  ac- 
company us  to  another  locality. 

The  sheriff  had  now  recovered  from  a  dreadful  at- 
tack of  the  prevailing  epidemic,  and  was  able  to  resume 
his  duties.  In  the  meantime,  he  had  heard  of  the 
change  which  had  taken  place  in  the  administration  of 
affairs  at  headquarters,  a  change  at  v/hich  he  felt  no 
regret,  but  rather  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction,  as  it  re- 
lieved him  from  the  performance  of  very  disagreeable 
and  invidious  duties,  and  the  execution  of  many  severe 
and  inhuman  laws.  He  was  now  looking  over  anS" 
signing  some  papers,  when  he  rang  the  bell  and  a  ser- 
vant entered. 

"'  Tom,"  said  he,  ''  there  is  an  old  man,  a  poor  men- 
dicant, to  call  here,  who  was  once  a  servant  in  our 
family ;  wdien  he  comes  show  him  into  the  office.  I 
expect  some  important  family  information  from  him  re- 
specting the  ^property  which  we  are  disputing  about 
in  the  Court  of  Chancery." 

''Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  ''  I  shall  do  so." 

This  occurred  on  the  day  of  Whitecraft's  visit  to 
Squire  Folliard,  and  it  was  on  the  evening  of  the 
same  that  Smellpriest  w^as  sent  upon  the  usual  chase, 
on  the  information  of  the  Rev.  Samson  Strong ;  so  that 
the  events  to  wdiichwehave  alluded  occurred,  as  if  by 
some  secret  relation  to  each  other,  on  the  same  day. 

At  length  our  friend  Fergus  entered  the  office,  in  his 
usual  garb  of  an  aged  and  confirmed  mendicant. 


338  AVILLY    REILLY. 

"Well,  Reilly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  am  glad  you 
have  come.  I  could  have  taken  up  this  ruffian,  this 
Red  Rapparee,  as  he  is  properly  called,  upon  suspicion ; 
but  that  would  have  occasioned  delay  ;  and  it  is  my 
object  to  lodge  him  in  jail  this  night,  so  as  to  give  him 
no  chance  of  escape  unless  he  breaks  prison  ;  but,  in 
order  to  prevent  that,  I  shall  give  strict  injunctions,  in 
consequence  of  the  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
so  powerful  and  desperate  a  character,  that  he  be  kept 
in  strong  irons." 

"  If  it  be  within  the  strength  of  man,  sir,  to  break 
prison,  he  will ;  he  done  it  twice  before  ;  and  he's  under 
the  notion  that  he  was  never  born  to  be  hanged ;  some 
of  the  ould  prophecy  men,  and  Mary  Mahon,  it  seems, 
tould  him  so." 

"  In  the  meantime,  Reilly,  we  shall  test  the  truth  of 
such  prophecies.  But  listen.  What  is  your  wish  that 
I  should  do  for  you,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  already 
done  '^  You  know  I  have  the  secretary's  letter,  stating 
that  you  are  free,  and  have  to  dread  neither  arrest  nor 
punishment ;  but  that  is  upon  the  condition  that  you 
shall  give  all  the  evidence  against  this  man  that  you  are 
possessed  of  In  that  case  the  Government  will  also 
bountifully  reward  you,  besides." 

"  The  Government  need  not  think  of  any  such  thing, 
your  honor,"  replied  Reilly  ;  '^  a  penny  of  Government 
money  will  never  cross  my  pocket.  It  isn't  for  any  re- 
ward I  come  against  this  man,  but  because  he  joined 
tlie  bloodhounds  of  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  against  his 
own  priests  and  his  own  religion  ;  or  at  laste,  against 
the  rehgion  he  professed,  for  I  don't  think  he  ever  had 
any." 

^^  Well,  then,  I  can  make  you  one  of  my  officers." 

'^Is  it  to  go  among  the  poor  and  distressed,  sir,  and 
help,  maybe,  to  take  the  b.ed  from  undher  the  sick  father, 
or  the  sick  mother,  and  to  leave  tliem  without  a  sti(?k 
undher  the  could  roof  or  naked  walls  I     No, 


WILLY    REILLY.  339 

er  than  do  that,  I'd  take  to  the  highway  unce  more, 
and  rob  like  a  man  in  the  face  of  danger.  That  I  may 
never  see  to-morrow,"  he  proceeded,  with  veliemenca. 
^'  but  rd  rather  rob  ten  rich  men  tlian  harisli  one  poor 
family.  It  was  that  work  that  druv  me  to  the  coorse  I 
left — that  an'  the  persecution  tliat  was  upon  us.  Take 
my  word,  sir,  that  in  nineteen  cases  out  of  twenty  it  was 
the  laws  themselves  and  the  poverty  they  brought  upon 
the  country,  that  made  the  robbers." 

'^  But  could  you  not  give  evidence  against  some  others 
of  the  gang  V^ 

""  No,  sir ;  there  is  not  one  of  them  in  this  part  of  the 
kingdom,  and  I  believe  the  most  of  them  all  are  out  of 
it  altogether.  But  even  if  they  were  not,  I,  sir,  am  not 
the  man  to  betray  them ;  the  Red  Rapparee  would,  if 
he  could  get  at  them ;  but  thank  God,  IVe  put  every 
man  of  them  beyond  his  reach." 

'^  You  did  !  and  pray,  now,  wh}^,  may  I  ask,  did  that 
happen  f 

*'  Bekaise  it  came  to  m}-  ears  that  it  was  his  intention 
to  inform  against  them,  and  surrender  them  all  to  the 
Government." 

''  Well,  Reilly,  after  all,  I  believe  you  to  be  an  honest 
fellow,  even  although  you  were  once  a  robber ;  but  the 
question  now  is,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Are  you  sure  of 
his  whereabouts  f 

"•  I  think  so,  sir ;  or,  if  I  am  not,  I  know  one  that  is." 

''  Pray,  w^ho  is  that  f 

''Tom  Steeple,  sir." 

''  Do  you  mean  the  poor  fool  of  that  name—or  rather, 
I  believe,  of  that  nickname  f 

"  I  do  sir;  and  in  many  things  he's  less  of  a  fool 
than  a  wnser  man.  He  has  been  dodgin'  him  for  the 
last  two  or  three  days ;  and  Ms  a  person  that  no  one 
w^ould  ever  suspect." 

''Well,  Reilly,"  proceeded  the  sheriff,  "I  leave  the 
management  of  the  capture  of  this  man  to  yourself. 


340  WILLY   KEILLY. 

You  shall  have  a  strong  and  determined  party  to  sup- 
port you.  Do  you  only  show  them  the  man,  and,  take 
my  word  for  it,  they  will  secure  the  robber.  After  this 
affair  is  o  ver,  you  must  throw  off  those  rags.  I  will  fur- 
nish you  with  decent  clothes  ;  and  you  can  go  out  at 
large,  without  fear  or  risk,  and  that  under  your  own  name 
too.  I  took  your  Lint  and  declined  swearing  the  infor- 
mation against  him  before  the  old  squire,  as  I  had  intend- 
ed, from  an  apprehension  that  he  might  possibly  blab  the 
fact  to  Whitecraft,  who,  if  your  information  be  correct, 
would  have  given  him  notice  to  fly,  or  otherwise  con- 
cealed liim  from  justice." 

**Well,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  ''it's  my  opinion  that  the 
Rapparee  will  lodge  in  Sligojail  before  to-morrow  morn- 
in' ;  and  it's  a  thousand  pities  that  Whitecraft  shouldn't 
be  sent  there  to  keep  him  company." 

"  He  certainly  is  the  most  unpopular  man  living.  In 
the  exuberance  of  his  loyalty,  he  has  contrived  to  of- 
fend almost  every  respectable  Protestant  in  the  country, 
and  that  with  an  unjustifiable  degree  of  wanton  and 
overbearing  insolence,  arising  from  his  consciousness 
of  impunity.  However,  thank  God,  his  day  is  gone  by. 
But  mark  me,  Reilly — I  had  almost  forgotten — don't 
neglect  to  secure  the  clothes  in  which  the  villain  rob- 
bed me  ;  they  will  be  important." 

''I  had  no  intention  of  forgetting  them,  sir;  and  that 
scheme  for  throwing  the  guilt  of  his  own  villany  on  Mr. 
Reilly  is  another  reason  why  I  appear  against  him." 

It  was  not,  indeed,  very  easy  for  the  Rapparee  to 
escape.  Whitecraft  got  home  safe,  a  little  before  dusk, 
after  putting  his  unfortunate  horse  to  more  than  his  nat- 
ural speed.  On  his  arrival,  he  ordered  wine  to  be  brought, 
and  sat  down  to  meditate  upon  the  most  feasible  plan 
for  reinstating  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  the  new 
Government.  After  pondering  over  many  speculations 
to  that  effect,  it  occurred  to  him  that  to  secure  the  Rap- 
peree,  now  that  he  could,  as  an  agent  and  a  guide,  be 


WILLV    KEILLV.  341 

of  no  further  use  to  him,  was  the  most  likely  procedure 
to  affect  bis  purpose.  He  accordingly  rang  for  his 
usual  attendant,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  O'Don- 
nel  was.  The  man  replied  tliat  he  was  generally  in  or 
about  Mary  Mahon's. 

"Then/'  proceeded  his  master,  "let  him  be  with  me 
to-morrow  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  If  I  see  him,  sir,  I  shall  tell  him." 

"  And  say  that  I  have  something  to  his  advantage  to 
mention  to  him." 

''  Yes,  sir  ;  I  sha'n't  forget  it." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  after  the  servant  had  withdrawn,  and 
taking  a  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I 
feel  very  uncomfortable,  somehow.  I  certainly  did  not 
expect  a  change  in  the  Administration,  nor  a  relaxation 
in  the  carrying  out  of  the  laws  against  Papists  ;  and, , 
under  this  impression,  I  fear  I  have  gone  too  far ;  and 
that  I  may  be  brought  over  the  coals  for  my  conduct. 
I  understand  that  the  old  French  AbM,  is  returned,  and 
once  more  a  resident  in  the  family  of  that  d — d  marquis. 
I  think,  by  the  way,  I  should  go  and  apologize  to  both 
the  marquis  and  the  Ahhe,  and  thrown  the  blame  of  my 
own  violence  upon  the  conduct  and  instructions  of  the 
late  Government ;  that,  and  the  giving  up  of  this  ruffian- 
ly Rapparee  to  the  present,  may  do  something  for  me. 
This  country,  however,  now  that  matters  have  taken 
such  an  unexpected  turn,  shall  not  long  be  my  place  ot 
residence.  As  for  Reilly,  my  marriage  on  the  day  after  to- 
morrow with  that  stubborn  beauty,  Helen  Folliard,  will 
place  an  impassable  barrier  between  him  and  her.  1 
am  glad  he  has  escaped,  for  he  will  not  be  in  our  way, 
and  we  shall  start  for  my  English  estates  immediately 
after  the  ceremony.  To-morrow,  however,  I  shall  se- 
cure the  Rapparee,  and  hand  him  over  to  the  authori- 
ties. I  could  have  wished  to  hang  Reilly,  but  now  it  is 
impossible  ;  still  we  shall  start  for  England  immediate- 
ly after  the  nuptial  knot  is  tied,  for  I  don't  think  I  could 


342  WILLY    REILLY. 

consider  myself  safe,  now  that  he  is  at  large,  and  at  lib- 
erty to  appear  in  his  proper  name  and  person;  es- 
pecially after  all  the  miscliief  I  have  done  him,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  fact  of  my  bearing  away  his  Coleen  Bawn, 
as  she  is  called." 

In  fact,  the  man's  mind  was  a  turbid  chaos  of  reflec- 
tions upon  the  past  and  the  futm-e — of  selfishness,  dis- 
appointed vengeance,  terror,  hypocritical  policy,  and 
every  feeling  that  could  fill  the  imagination  of  a  man 
possessed  of  a  vacillating,  cowardly,  and  cruel  heart, 
with  the  exception  only  of  anything  tliat  could  border 
upon  penitence  or  remorse.  That  Miss  Folliard  was 
not  indifferent  to  him  is  true  ;  but  the  feeling  which  he 
experienced  towards  her  contained  only  one  ele- 
ment, and  that  was  sensuality.  Of  love,  in  its  purest, 
highest,  and  holiest  sense,  he  was  utterly  incapable ; 
and  he  was  not  ignorant  himself,  that,  in  the  foul  attach- 
ment which  he  bore  her,  he  was  only  carrying  into 
effect  the  principles  of  his  previous  hfe — those  of  a  gross 
and  private  debauchee.  That  amiable,  but  unhappy 
and  distracted  lady  spent  that  whole  evening  in  making 
preparations  for  her  flight  with  Reilly.  Her  m?mner 
was  wild  and  excited  ;  indeed  so  much  so,  that  the 
presence  of  mind  and  cool  good  sense,  for  which  her 
maid  Connor  was  remarkable,  were  scarcely  sufficient 
to  guide  and  direct  her  in  this  distressing  emergenc}^ 
She  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  but  one  thought,  and 
that  was  of  her  father.  His  affection  for  her  enlarged 
and  expanded  itself  in  her  loving  heart,  with  a  force 
and  tenderness  that  nearly  drove  her  into  delirium. 
Connor,  in  the  meantime,  got  all  things  ready,  she  her- 
self having  intrusted  the  management  of  everything  to 
her.  The  unhappy  girl  paced  to  and  fro  her  room, 
sobbing  and  weeping  bitterly,  wringing  her  hands,  and 
exclaiming  from  time  to  time  : — 

"'  0  my  father  !  my  dear  and  loving  father  !  is  this 
the  return  I  am  making  you   for  your  tenderness  and 


WILLY   REILLY.  343 

affection  I  what  am  I  about  to  do  I  what  steps  am  I  go- 
ing to  take  I  to  leave  you  desolate,  with  no  heart  for 
yours  to  repose  upon  !  Alas  !  there  was  but  one  that  you 
cared  for,  and  in  the  duty  and  affection  of  that  one  all 
your  hopes  for  happiness  lay  ;  and  now,  when  you 
awake,  you  will  find  that  that  heart,  the  very  heart  on 
which  you  rested,  has  deserted  ^ou  !  When  you  come 
down  to  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  find  that  your 
own  Helen,  your  only  one,  has  gone — 0  who  will  sus- 
tain, or  soothe,  or  calm  you  in  the  frenzied  grief  of 
your  desolation  ?  But,  alas  !  what  can  I  do  but  escape 
from  that  cowardly  and  vindictive  villain — the  very  in- 
carnation of  oppression  and  persecution  ;  the  h3^pocrite, 
the  secret  debauchee,  the  mean,  the  dastardly,  whose 
inhuman  ambition  was  based  upon  and  nurtured  by 
blood  '^  Alas !  I  have  but  the  one  remedy,  flight  with 
my  noble-minded  lover,  whom  that  dastardly  villain 
would  have  hunted,  even  to  his  murder  or  an  igno- 
minious death,  which  would  have  been  worse.  This 
flight  is  not  spontaneously  mine  ;  I  am  forced  to  it ;  and 
of  two  evils  I  will  choose  the  least ;  surely  I  am  not 
bound  to  seal  my  own  misery  forever." 

Connor  had  by  this  time  attempted,  as  far  as  she 
could,  to  disguise  her  in  one  of  her  own  dresses ;  but 
nothing  could  conceal  the  elegance  and  exquisite  pro- 
portion of  her  figure^  nor  the  ladylike  harmony  and 
grace  of  her  motions.  She  then  went  to  the  oaken  cab- 
inet, mentioned  by  her  father  in  the  opening  of  our  narra- 
tive, and  as  she  always  had  the  key  of  that  portion  of  it 
which  contained  her  own  diamonds,  and  other  property, 
she  took  a  casket  of  jewels  of  immense  value  from  it,  and 
returned  toherroom,  whereshe  found Connorbeforeher. 
.  ^'  Mr.  Reilly  is  ready,  miss,"  she  said,  "and  is  wait- 
ing for  you  behind  the  garden  :  the  only  one  I  dread 
in  the  house  is  Andy  Cummiskey  ^  he  is  so  much  attached 
to  the  master,  that  I  think  if  he  knew  you  were  about 
to  escape,  he  would  tell  him." 


344  WILLY    REILLY. 

"  Well,  Connor,  we  must  only  avoid  him  as  well  as  we 
can  ;  but  where,  or  how,  shall  I  cany  those  jewels?  in 
these  slight  pockets  of  yours,  Connor,  they  could  not 
be  safe  ? " 

^'  Well,  then,  can't  you  give  them  to  him  to  keep,  and 
they'll  be  safe." 

^'  True,  Connor  ;  so  they  will ;  but  I  give  him  a  heart 
which  he  prizes  above  them  all.  But,  alas  !  my  father! 
0,  how,  Connor,  shall  I  abandon  Mm  f^ 

'^  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  dear  Miss  Folliard; 
your  father  loves  you  too  much  to  hold  out  his  anger 
against  you  long.  Did  you  not  tell  me  that,  if  Reilly  was 
a  Protestant,  your  father  said  he  would  rather  marry 
you  to  him  than  to  Sir  Robert,  the  villain,  with  all  his 
wealth  f ' 

''  I  did,  Connor,  and  my  father  certainly  said  so ;  but 
the  serpent,  Connor,  entwined  himself  about  the  poor 
credulous  man,  and  succeeded  in  embittering  himagainst 
Reilly,  who  would  rather  go  to  the  scaffold — yes — and 
— which  he  would  consider  a  greater  sacrifice — rather 
abandon  even  me  than  his  religion.  And  do  you  think, 
Connor,  that  I  do  not  love  my  noble-minded  Reilly  the 
more  deeply  for  this  ?  I  tell  you,  Connor,  that  if  he 
renounced  his  religion  upon  no  other  principle  than  his 
love  for  me,  I  should  despise  him  as  a  dishonorable  man, 
to  whom  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  intrust  my  hap- 
piness." 

*^  Well,  well;  but  now  it  is  time  to  start,  and  Reilly, 
as  I  said,  is  waiting  for  you  behind  the  garden." 

^'O  Connor,  and  is  it  come  to  this  ?  my  dear  papa  ! 
but  I  cannot  go  until  I  see  him  ;  no,  Connor,  I  could 
not ;  I  shall  go  quietly  into  his  room,  and  take  one  look 
at  him  ;  probably  it  may  be  the  last.  O  my  God  !  what 
am  I  about  to  do  ?  Connor,  keep  this  casket  until  I  re- 
turn;   I  shall  not  be  long." 

She  then  went  to  his  chamber;  ,the  blinds  and  cur- 
tains of  the  windows  had  not  been  drawn,  and  it  occurred 


WILLY   REILLY.  345 

to  her,  that,  as  her  dress  was  so  different  from  what  her 
father  had  ever  seen  on  her,  some  suspicion  might  be 
created,  should  he  observe  it.  She  therefore  left  the 
candlestick  which  she  had  brougbt  with  her  on  the  inside 
sill  of  a  lobby  window ;  having  observed  at  the  door 
that  the  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  windows  up- 
on his  bed.  Judge  of  her  consternation,  however,  when, 
on  entering  the  room,  her  father,  turning  himself  in  the 
bed,  asked — 

^'Is  that  you,  Helen?" 

'^  It  is,  papa ;  I  thought  you  had  been  asleep,  and  I 
came  up  to  steal  my  good -night  kiss,  without  any  inten- 
tion of  awakening  you." 

'^I  drank  too  much,  Helen,  withWhitecraft,  whom 
wine — my  Burgundy — instead  of  warming,  seems  to 
turn  into  an  icicle.  However,  he  is  a  devilish  shrewd 
fellow.  Helen,  darling,  there's  a  jug  of  water  on  the 
table  there  ;  will  you  hand  it  to  me  1  Vm  all  in  a  flame 
and  a  fever.'' 

She  did  so,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  much  that  she 
was  near  spilling  it.  He  took  a  long  draught,  after 
which  he  smacked  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  breathe  more 
freely. 

"  Helen,"  said  he. 

^'  Well,  dear  papa." 

^'  Helen,  I  had  something  to  mention  to  you,  but " 

"Don't  disturb  yourself  to-night,  papa;  you  are 
somewhat  feverish,'^  she  added,  feeling  his  pulse;  "If 
you  will  excuse  me,  papa,  I  think  you  drank  too  much  ; 
your  pulse  is  very  quick ;  if  you  could  fall  into  rest 
again,  it  would  be  better  for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  would  ;  but  my  mind  is  uneasy  and  sorrow- 
ful.    Helen,  I  thought  you  loved  me,  my  darling." 

"  O  could  you  doubt  it,  papa  I  you  see  I  am  come 
as  usual — no,  not  as  usual,  either-  to  kiss  you  ;  I  will 
place  my  cheek  against  3^ours,  as  I  used  to  do,  dear 
papa,  and  you  will  allow  me  to   weep — to  weep — and 


346  WILLY    REILLY. 

to  say  that  never  father  deserved  the  love  of  a  daughter 
as  you  have  deserved  mine ;  and  never  did  daughter 
love  an  affectionate  and  indulgent  father  more  tender- 
ly than  your  Cohen  Baivn  does  you." 

''  I  know  it  Helen,  I  know  it ;  your  whole  life  has 
been  a  proof  of  it,  and  will  be  a  proof  of  it;  I  know 
you  have  no  other  object  in  this  world  than  to  make 
papa  happy ;  I  know,  I  feel,  that  you  are  great-minded 
enough  to  sacrifice  everything  to  that.'' 

"Well,  but,  papa,"  she  continued,  '^for  all  my  for- 
mer offences  against  you,  will  you  pity  and  forgive  me  %  " 

*'Ido  both,  you  foolish  darling;  but  what  makes 
you  speak  so  I " 

"Because  I  feel  melancholy  to-night,  papa;  and 
now,  papa,  if  ever  I  should  do  anything  wrong,  won't 
you  pity  and  forgive  your  own  Coleen  Bawn  f '' 

"  Get  along,  you  gypsy — don't  be  cr3dng.  What 
could  you  do,  that  papa  w^ouldn't  forgive  you,  unless 
to  run  away  with  Heilly  ?  Don't  you  know  that  you 
can  wind  me  round  your  finger  I " 

"Farewell,  papa,"  she  said,  weeping  all  the  time; 
for,  in  truth,  she  found  it  impossible  to  control  her- 
self; "farewell — good-night!  and  remember  that  you 
may  have  a  great  deal  to  forgive  your  own  Coleen 
BavM  some  of  these  days." 

On  leaving  the  bedroom,  where  she  was  hurried  b}^ 
her  feelings  into  this  indiscreet  dialogue,  she  found 
herself  nearly  incapable  of  walking  without  support. 
The  contending  affections  for  her  father  and  her  lover 
had  nearly  overcome  her.  By  the  aid  of  the  staircase 
she  got  to  her  own  room,  where  she  was  met  by  Con- 
nor, into  whose  arms  she  fell  almost  helpless. 

"  Ah,  Connor,''  she  said — alluding  to  her  father, 
whom  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  name — "  to-morrow 
morning  what  will  become  of  him,  when  he  finds  that 
1  am  gone  ?  But  I  know  his  affectionate  heart.  He 
will  relent — he   will   relent  for   the   sake  of  his   own 


WILLY    REILLY.  347 

Cohen  Bawn.  The  laws  against  Catholics  are  now 
relaxed,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  But  I  have  one  consola- 
tion, my  dear  girl,  that  I  am  trusting  myself  to  a 
man  of  honor.  We  will  proceed  directly  to  the  Conti- 
nent— that  is,  if  no  calamitous  occurrence  should  take 
place  to  prevent  us;  and  there,  after  our  nuptials  shall 
have  been  duly  celebrated,  I  will  live  happy  with 
Reilly — that  is,  Connor,  as  happy  as  absence  from  my 
dear  father  will  permit  me — and  Reilly  will  live  happy, 
and,  at  least,  free  from  the  persecution  of  bad  laws,  and 
such  villains  as  base  and  vindictive  Whitecraft.  You, 
Connor,  must  accompany  me  to  the  back  of  the  garden, 
and  see  me  off.  Take  this  purse,  Connor,  as  some  com- 
pensation for  your  truth  and  the  loss  of  your  situa- 
tion." 

It  was  now,  when  the  moment  of  separation  ap- 
proached, that  Connor's  tears  began  to  flow,  far  less  at 
tlie  generosity  of  her  mistress  than  her  affection,  and 
that  which  she  looked  upon  probably  as  their  final 
separation. 

^'Dear  Connor,"  said  her  mistress,  ^^I  would  expect 
that  support  to  my  breaking  heart  which  I  have  hither- 
to experienced  from  yon.  Be  firui,  now  ;  for  you  see 
/  am  not  firm,  and  your  tears  only  render  me  less  ade- 
quate to  encounter  the  unknown  vicissitudes  which  lie 
before  me." 

^'  Well,  then,  I  will  be  firm,  my  dear  mistress  ;  and  I 
tell  you  that  if  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  that  rewards 
virtue  and  goodness  like  yours,  you  will  be  happy  yet. 
Come,  now  he  is  waiting  for  you,  and  the  less  time  we 
lose  the  better.  We  shall  go  out  by  the  back  v/ay— it 
is  the  safest." 

They  accordingly  did  so,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
back  wall  of  the  garden  when  they  met  Malcomson  and 
Cummiskey,  on  tlieir  way  into  the  kitchen,  in  order  to 
have  a  mug  of  strong  ale  together.  The  two  men,  on  see- 
ing the  females  approach,  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  a 


348  WILLY   REILLY, 

clump  of  trees;  but  not  until  they  were  known  by- 
Connor. 

**Come,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  whispered,  ''there  is 
not  one  second  of  time  to  be  lost.  Cummiskey,  who  is 
a  Catholic,  might  overlook  our  being  here  at  this  hour  ; 
because,  although  he  is  rather  in  the  liglit  of  a  friend 
than  a  servant  to  your  father,  still,  he  is  a  friend  to 
Reilly,  as  well ;  but  as  for  that  ugly  Scotchman,  that 
is  nothing  but  bone  and  skin,  I  could  not  depend  upon 
him  as  far  as  I  could  throw  a  cow  by  the  tail." 

We  will  not  describe  the  meeting  between  Eeilly  and 
the  Coleen  Baivn.  They  had  no  time  to  lose  in  the  ten- 
der expressions  of  their  feelings.  Each  shook  hands 
with  and  bade  farewell  to  poor  affectionate  Con- 
nor, who  was  now  drowned  in  tears ;  and  thus  they  set 
off,  with  a  view  of  leaving  the  kingdom,  and  getting 
themselves  legally  married  in  Holland,  where  they  in- 
tended to  reside. 

CHAPTER  XX. 


THE  RAPPAREE   SECURED — REILLY  AND   COLEEN  BAWN 
ESCAPE  AND  ARE  CAPTURED, 

Cummiskey  had  a  private  and  comfortable  room  of 
his  own,  to  which  he  and  the  cannie  Scotchman  pro- 
ceeded, after  having  ordered  from  the  butler  a  tankard 
of  strong  ale.  There  was  a  cheerful  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  when  the  tankard  and  glasses  w^ere  placed  upon  the 
table,  the  Scotchman  observed  :  — 

''  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  Maisther  Cummiskey,  but 
ye'r  vara  comfortable  here." 

'<  Why,  in  troth,  I  can't  complain,  Mr.  Malcomson  ; 
here's  your  health,  sir,  and  after  that  we  must  drink 
another.'' 


WILLY    KEILLY.  34 [» 

^'  Mony  thanks,  Andrew." 

^'  D — n  it,  I'm  not  Andrew,  that  sounds  like  Scotch  ; 
I'm  Andy,  man  alive." 

"  Weel,  mony  thanks,  Andy  ;  but  for  the  matter  o' 
that,  what  the  de'il  waur  wad  it  be  gin  it  were 
Scotch!" 

"  Bekaise  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  considered  a  Scotch- 
man, somehow." 

^'  Weel,  Andrew — Andy — I  do  just  suppose  as  muckle; 
gin  ye  war  considered  Scotch,  muckle  mair  might  be 
expecket  frae  you  than,  being  an  Irisher,  as  you  are, 
you  could  be   prepared   to  answer  to  ;  whereas " 

"Why,  d — nit,  man  alive,  we  can  give  three  an- 
swers for  your  one." 

'^  Weel,  but  how  is  that  now,  Andy  !  Here's  to  ye, 
in  the  meantime  ;  and  I  am  no  sayin'  but  this  yill  is 
just  richt  gude  drink  ;  it  warms  the  pit  o'  the  stamach, 
man." 

^'  You  mane  bv  that  the  pit  o'  the  stomach,  I  sup- 
pose f 

'' Ay,  just  that." 

^^  Troth,  Mr.  Malcomson,  you  Scotchers  bring  every- 
thing to  the  pit  o'  the  stomach — no,  begad,  I  ax  your 
pardon,  for  although  ^^ou  take  care  of  the  pratiebag, 
you  don't  forget  the  pocket." 

''And  Avhat  for  no,  Andy  ?  Why  the  de'il  war 
pockets  made,  gin  they  warna  to  be  filled  ?  but  how 
hev  ye  Irishers  three  answers  for  our  ane  f " 

"  Why,  first  with  our  tongue ;  and  even  with  that  we 
bate  ye — flog  you  hollow.  You  Scotchmen  take  so 
much  time  in  givin'  an  answer,  that  an  Irishman  could 
say  his  pattherin  aves  before  you  spake.  You  think 
first,  and  spake  afterwards,  and  come  out  in  sich  a  way 
that  one  would  suppose  you  say  grace  for  every  word 
you  do  spake  ;  but  it  isn't  '  for  what  we  are  to  receive' 
you  ought  to  say  'may  the  Lord  make  us  thankful,' 
but  for  what  we  are  to  lose-— that  is  your  Scotch  non- 


350  WILLY   REILLY. 

sense ;  and,  in  troth,  vou  ought  to  be  thankful  for  log- 
in' it." 

^'  Weel,  man,  here's  to  ye,  Andy — ou,  man,  but  this 
yill  is  extraordinar'  gude." 

"  Wliy,"  replied  Andy,  who,  by  the  way,  seldom 
went  sober  to  bed,  and  who  was  even  now  nearly  three 
sheets  in  the  wind,  *^  it  is,  Mr.  Malcomson,  the  right 
stuff.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  you  Scotchmen  think  first 
and  spake  afther — one  of  the  most  unlucky  practices 
that  ever  anybody  had.  Now,  don't  you  see  the  advan- 
tage that  the  Irishman  has  over  you?  he  spakes  first 
and  thinks  aftherwards,  and  then,  3'ou  know,  it  gives 
him  plenty  of  time  to  think — here's  God  bless  us  all, 
anyhow — but  that's  the  way  an  Irishman  bates  a 
Scotchman  in  givin'  an  answer  ;  for  if  he  ftiils  by  word 
of  mouth,  why,  whatever  he's  deficient  in  he  makes  up 
— by  the  fist  or  cudgel ;  and  there's  our  three  Irish  an- 
wers  for  one  Scotch." 

''  Weel,  man,  a'richt— a  richt — we  winna  quarrel 
about  it;  but  Ithocht  ye  promised  to  gie  us  anither  toast, 
de'il  be  frae  my  saul,  man,  but  I'll  drink  as  mony  as 
you  like  wi'  siccan  liquor  as  this." 

*^  Ay,  troth,  I  did  say  so,  and  devil  a  thing  but  your 
Scotch  nonsense  put  it  out  o'  my  head.  And  now,  Mr. 
Malcomson,  let  me  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  never  to 
attempt  to  have  the  whole  conversation  to  yourself ; 
it  isn't  daicent." 

''Weel;  but  the  toast,  man?" 

''  O  aye  ;  troth,  your  nonsense  would  put  anything 
out  of  a  man's  head.  Well,  you  see  this  comfortable 
room?" 

"Ou,  ay  ;  an  vara  comfortable  it  is  ;  ma  faith,  I  wuss 
I  had  ane  like  it.  The  auld  squire,  however,  talks  0' 
buildin'  a  garden -hoose." 

"  AVell,  then,  fill  your  bumper,  He's  to  her  that 
got  me  this  room,  and  had  it  furnished  as  you  see,  in 
ordher  that  I  might  be  at  my  aise  in  it  for  the  remain- 


WILLY    REILLY.  351 

dher  o'  my  life — I  mane  the  Coleen  Baivn — the  Lily 
of  the  plains  of  Boyle  !  Come  now,  off  witli  it ;  and  if 
you  take  it  from  your  lantern  jaws  till  it's  finished, 
divil  a  wet  lip  I'll  ever  give  you." 

The  Scotchman  was  not  indisposed  to  honor  the 
toast :  first,  because  the  ale  was  both  strong  and  mel- 
low ;  and  secondly,  because  the  Coleen  Baitm  was  a 
great  favorite  of  his,  in  consequence  of  the  deference 
she  paid  to  him  as  a  botanist. 

''  Eh,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  after  finishing  his  bumper 
*'  but  she's  a  bonnie  lassie  that,  and  asgude  as  she's  bonnie 
— and  de'il  a  higher  compliment  she  could  get  I  think. 
But  Andy,  man,  don't  they  talk  some  clash  and  havers 
anent  herpredilectionforthatweel-farrant  callan,Reilly!" 

''Ah,  my  poor  girl,"  replied  Cummiskey,  shaking  his 
head  sorrowfully  ;  ''I  pity  her  there;  but  the  thing's 
impossible— they  can't  be  married — the  law  is  against 
them." 

*'  Weel,  Andy,  they  must  e'en  thole  it ;  but  I  am 
thinkin'  they'll  just  break  bounds  at  last,  and  take  the 
law,  as  you  Irish  do,  into  their  ain'  hands." 

'"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ^  "  asked  Andy,  whose 
temper  began  to  get  warm  by  the  observation. 

"  Eh,  man,"  replied  the  Scotchman,  ''  dinnalet  your 
birses  rise  that  gate.  Noo  there's  the  filbert-trees,  ma 
friend,  of  whilk  ane  is  male  and  the  thither  female ; 
and  the  upshot  e'en  is,  Andy,  that  de'il  a  pickle  o'  fruit 
ever  the  female  produces  until  there's  a  brawhalesome 
male  tree  planted  in  the  same  gerden.  But,  ou,  man, 
Andy,  wasna  yon  she  and  that  bonnie  jaud,  Connor, 
that  we  met  the  noo  ?  De'il  be  frae  my  saul,  but  I 
jalouse  she's  aff  wi'  him  this  vara  nicht." 

"Good  God,  no!"  replied  Cummiskey,  starting: 
"  that  would  kill  her  father ;  and  yet  there  must  be 
something  in  it,  or  what  would  bring  them  there  at  such 
an  hour  ?  He  and  she  may  love  one  another  as  much 
as  they  like;  but  /must  think  of  my  masther," 


352  WILLY    REILLY. 

*^  In  that  case,  then,  our  best  plan  is  to  gi'e  the 
alarm." 

*'  Hould,"  replied  Andy,  ^'  let  us  be  cautious.  -They 
wouldn't  go  on  foot,  I  think;  and  before  we  rise  a  ruc- 
tion in  the  house,  let  us  find  out  whether  she  has  made 
off  or  not.  Sit  you  here,  and  I'll  try  to  see  Connor, 
her  maid." 

"  Ay,  but,  Andy,  man,  it's  no  just  that  pleasant  to 
sit  here  dry-lipped ;  the  tankard's  oot,  ye  ken." 

'^Divil  tankard  the  Scotch  soul  o'  ye — who  do 
you  suppose  could  think  of  a  tankard,  or  anything  else, 
if  what  we  suspect  has  happened  ?  It  will  kill  him." 

He  then  proceeded  to  look  for  Connor,  whom  he 
met  in  tears,  which  she  was  utterly  unable  to  conceal. 

*'Well,  Miss  Connor,"  he  asked,  *' what's  the  mat- 
ther  ?  You're  cryin'  I  persave." 

'*  Ah,  Cummiskey,  my  mistress  is  unwell." 

^^  Unwell !  why,  she  wasn't  unwell  a  while  ago,  when 
the  gardener  and  I  met  her  and  you  on  your  way  to 
the  back  o'  the  garden." 

"  0  yes,"  replied  Connor,  '^  I  forced  her  to  come  out, 
to  try  what  a  little  cool  air  might  do  for  her." 

"  Ay,  but,  Connor  did  you  force  her  to  come  in 
again  f" 

'^  Force!  there  was  no  force  necessary,  Cummiskey. 
She^s  now  in  her  own  room,  quite  ill." 

"  0  then,  if  she's  quite  ill,  it's  right  that  her  father 
should  know  it,  in  ordher  that  a  docthor  may  be  sent 
for.'' 

*'  Ay,  but  she's  now  asleep,  Cummiskey — that  sleep 
may  set  her  to  rights  ;  she  may  waken  quite  recovered ; 
but  you  know  it  might  be  dangerous  to  disturb  her." 

**  Ay,  I  believe  you,"  he  replied  dissimulating ;  for 
he  saw  at  once,  by  Connor's  agitated  manner,  that 
every  word  she  uttered  was  a  lie  ;  "•  the  sleep  will  be 
good  for  her,  the  darlin' ;  but  take  care  of  her,  Connor, 
for  the  masther's  sake,  for  ^vhat  would  become  of  him, 


WILLY    REILLY.  353 

if  anything  happened  her  ?  You  know  that  if  she  died 
he  wouldn't  live  a  week." 

'^  That's  true,  indeed,"  shea'eplied ;  ^'  and  if  she  gets 
worse,  Cummiskey,  I'll  let  the  master  know." 

''  That's  a  good  girl;  magragal  that  you  war — good- 
hy,  acushla  ;"  and  he  immediataly  returned  to  his  own 
room,  alter  having  observed  that  Connor  went  down  to 
the  kitchen. 

*'  Now,  Mr.  Malcomson,"  said  he,  ''■  there  is  a  good 
fire  before  you — I  ax  your  pardon — just  sit  in  the  light 
of  it  a  minute  or  so ;  I  want  this  candle." 

*'  Am  saying,  Andy,  gin  ye  baud  awa  to  the  kitchen 
it  wadna  be  a  crime  to  send  up  another  tankard  o^  that 
yill." 

To  this  the  other  made  no  reply,  but  walked  out  of 
the  room,  and  ver}/  deliberately  proceeded  to  that  of 
Helen.  The  door  was  open,  the  bed  unslept  upon,  the 
window  curtains  undrawQ  ;  in  fact,  the  room  was  ten- 
antless,  Connor  a  liar  and  an  accomplice,  and  the  sus- 
picions of  himself  and  Malcomson  well  founded.  He 
then  followed  Connor  to  the  kitchen  ;  but  she,  too,  had 
disappeared,  or  at  least  hid  herself  from  him.  He  then 
desired  the  other  female  servants  to  ascertain  whether 
Miss  FoUiard  was  within  or  not ;  giving  it  as  his  opinion 
that  she  had  eloped  with  Willy  Reilly.  The  uproar 
now  commenced;  the  house  was  searched;  but  no  Coleen 
Baivn  was  to  be  found.  Cummiskey  himself  remained 
comparatively  tranquil ;  but  his  tranquillity  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  an  inexpressible  sorrow  for  what  he 
knew  the  affectionate  old  man  must  suffer  for  the  idol 
of  his  heart,  upon  whom  he  doted  with  such  unexampled 
tenderness  and  affection.  On  ascertaining  that  she  was 
not  in  the  house,  he  went  up-stairs  to  his  master's  bed- 
room, having  the  candlestick  in  his  hand,  and  tapped 
at  the  door.  There  wos  no  reply  from  within,  and  on 
entering  he  found  the  old  man  asleep.  The  case,  how- 
ever, was  one  that  admitted  of  no  delay  ;    but   he  felt 


354  WILLY    REILLY. 

that  to  communicate  the  melancholy  tidings  was  a  fear- 
ful task,  and  he  scarcely  knew  in  what  words  to  shape 
the  event  wliich  had  occurred.  At  length,  he  stirred 
him  gently,  and  the  old  man,  half  asleep,  exclaimed  : — 
''  Good-night,  Helen,  good-night,  darling  !  I  am  not 
well ;  I  had  something  to  tell  you  about  the  discovery 
of — but  I  will  let  you  know  it  to-morrow  at  breakfast. 
For  your  sake,  I  shall  let  him  escape  ;  there  now,  go  to 
bed,  my  love." 

"  Sir,"  said  Cummiskey,  ^'  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me 
for  disturbing  you." 

'*  What?  who ?  who's  there?  I  thought  it  was  my 
daughter." 

''  No,  sir,  I  wish  it  was  ;  I'm  come  to  tell  you  that 
Miss  FoUiard  can't  be  found ;  we  have  searched  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  house,  to  no  purpose;  wherever 
she  is,  she's  not  undher  this  roof  I  came  to  tell  3'ou 
so,  an'  to  bid  you  get  up,  that  we  may  see  what's  to 
be  done." 

''What!"  he  exclaimed,  starting  up,  ''my  child — my 
child — my  child  gone  !  God  of  heaven,  God  of  heaven, 
support  me !  my  darling,  my  treasure,  my  delight ! 
O  Cummiskey — but  it  can't  be  ;  to  desert  me  !  to  leave 
me  in  misery  and  sorrow,  broken-hearted,  distracted  ! 
slie  that  was  the  prop  of  my  age,  that  loved  me  as 
never  child  loved  a  father.  Begone,  Cummiskey,  it  is 
not  so;  it  can't  be,  I  say  ;  search  again  ;  she  is  some- 
where in  the  house;  you  don't  know,  sirrah,  how  she 
loved  me;  why,  it  was  only  this  night  that,  on  taking 
her  good-night  kiss,  slie — ha — what  ?  what  I  slie  wept, 
she  wept  bitterly,  and  bade  me /are^t?e// ;  and  said — 
Here,  Cummiskey,  assist  me  to  dress.  O  I  see  it,  Cum- 
miskey, I  see  it;  she  is  gone,  she  is  gone;  yes,  she  bade 
me  farewell ;  but  I  was  unsteady  and  unsettled,  after 
too  much  drink,  and  did  not  comprehend  her  meaning.'' 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  almost  frantic  dis- 
traction of  that  loving  father,  who,  as  he   said,  had  no 


WILLY    REILLY,  355 

prop  to  lean  upon  but  his  Coleen  Baivn,  for  he  hunself 
often  loved  to  call  her  by  that  appellation. 

"  Cummiskey,"  he  proceeded,  "  we  will  pursue  them, 
-—we  must  have  my  darling  back ;  yes,  and  I  will  for- 
give her,  for  what  is  she  but  a  child,  Cummiskey,  scarce- 
ly  eighteen  f  But  in  the  meantime,  I  will  shoot  hiu; 
dead — dead — dead,  if  he  had  a  thousand  lives  ;  and 
from,  this  night  out  I  shall  pursue  Popery,  in  all  its 
shapes  and  disguises  ;  I  will  imprison  it,  transport  it, 
hang  it — hang  it,  Cummiskey,  as  round  as  alioop.  Ring 
the  hell,  and  let  Lanigan  unload  and  then  reload  my 
pistols ;  he  always  does  it ;  his  father  was  my  grand- 
father's game-keeper,  and  he  understandsfirearms.  Here, 
though,  help  me  on  with  my  boots  first,  and  then  I  will 
be  dressed  immediately.  After  giving  the  pistols  to 
Lanigan,  desire  the  grooms  and  hostlers  to  saddle  all 
the  horses  in  the  stables.  We  must  set  out  and  pur- 
sue then].  It  is  possible  we  may  overtake  them  yet. 
I  will  not  level  a  pistol  against  my  child ;  but,  by  the 
God  of  heaven,  if  we  meet  them,  come  up  with  them, 
overtake  them,  his  guilty  spirit  will  stand  before  the 
throne  of  judgment  this  night.  Go,  now,  give  the  pis- 
tols to  Lanigan,  and  tell  him  to  reload  them  steadily. " 

We  leave  them  now,  to  follow  the  sheriff  and  his 
party,  who  went  to  secure  the  body  of  the  Red  Rappa- 
ree.  This  worthy  person,  not  at  all  aware  of  the 
friendly  office  which  his  patron,  Sir  Robert,  intended 
to  discharge  towards  him,  felt  himself  quite  safe,  and 
consequently  took  very  little  pains  to  secure  his  con= 
cealment.  Indeed,  it  could  hardly  be  expected  that 
he  should,  inasmuch  as  Whitecraft  had  led  him  to  un- 
derstand that  Government  had  pardoned  him  his  social 
trangressions,  as  2^,  per  contra  for  those  political  ones 
which  they  still  expected  from  him.  Such  was  his  own 
view  of  the  case  ;  but  he  had  yet  to  learn  a  lesson 
which  his  employer  was  not  disposed  to  teach  him  by 
any  other  means  than  handing  him  over  to  the  author- 


356  WILLY   REILLY, 

ities  on  the  following  day.     How  matters  miglit  have 
terminated  between  hiai  and  the  baronet  it  is  out  of 
our  power  to  detail.     The  man  was  at  all  times  des- 
perate and  dreadful,  where  either  revenge  or  anger 
was  excited,  especially  as  he  labored  under  the  super- 
stitious impression  that  he  was  never  to  be  hanged  or 
perish  by  a  violent  death ;  a  sentiment  then  by  no 
means  uncommon   among   persons  of  his   outi'ageous 
and  desperate  life.     It  has  been  observed,  and  with 
truth,  that  the  Irish  Rapparees  seldom  indulged  in  the 
habit  of  intoxication  or  intemperance,   and  this  is  not 
at  all  to  be  wondered  at.     The  meshes  of  authority 
were  always  spread  for  them,  and  the  very  conscious- 
ness of  this  fact  sharpened  their  wits,  and  kept  them 
perpetually  on  their  guard  against  the  possibility  of 
arrest.    Nor  was  this  all.     The  very  nature  of  the  lawless 
and  outrageous  life  they  led,   and  their  fj-equent  ex- 
posure to  danger,  rendered  habits  of  caution  necessary 
— and  those  were  altogether  incompatible  witli  habits 
of  intemperance.    Self-preservation  rendered  this  policy 
necessary,  and  we  believe  there  is  not  a  single  instance 
on  record  of  a  Rapparee  having  been  arrested  in  a 
state  of  intoxication.     Their  laws,   in   fact,    however 
barbarous  they  were  in  other  matters,  rendered  three 
cases  of  drunkenness  a  cause  of   expulsion  from  the 
gang.     O'Donnell  however,  had  now  relaxed  from  the 
rigid  observance  of  his  own  rules,  principally   for  the 
reasons  we  have  already  stated — by  which  we  mean 
a-  conviction  of  his  own  impunity,  as  falsely  communi- 
cated to  him  by  Sir  Robert  Wliitecraft.     The  Sheriff 
had  not,  at  first,  intended  to  be  personally  present  at 
his  capture  ;  but,  upon  second  considerations,  he  came 
to  the  determination  of  heading  the  party  who  were 
authorized  te  secure  him.     This  resolution  of  Oxley's 
had,  as  Avill  presently  be  seenj  a  serious  effect  upon  the 
fixte  and  fortunes  of  Coleen  Bawn  and  her  lover.     The 
party,  wdio  were  guided  by  Tom  Steeple,  did  not  go  to  E 


WILLY    REILLY.  357 

Mary  Mahon's,  but  to  a  neighboring  cottage,  which  was 
inhabited  by  a  distant  rekitive  of  O'Donnell.  A  quarrel 
had  taken  phice  between  the  fortune-teller  and  him, 
arising  from  his  jealousy  of  Sir  Robert,  which  caused 
such  an  estrangement  as  prevented  him  for  some  time 
from  visiting  her  house.  Tom  Steeple,  however,  had 
haunted  him  as  his  shadow,  without  ever  coming  in 
contact  with  him  personally,  and  on  this  night  he  had 
him  set  as  a  soho  man  has  a  hare  in  her  forui.  Guided, 
therefore,  by  the  intelligent  idiot  and  Fergus,  the  party 
reached  the  cottage  in  which  the  Eapparee  resided.  The 
house  was  instantly  surrounded,  and  the  door  knocked 
at,  for  the  party  knew  that  the  man  was  inside. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  asked  the  old  woman  who  kept  the 
cottage. 

''Open  the  door,  instantly,"  said  the  sheriff,  "or  we 
shall  smash  it  in." 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  replied;  "no  I  won't,  you  pos- 
thoon,  wlioever  you  are.  I  never  done  n.othin'  agin  the 
laws,  bad  luck  to  them,  and  I  won't  open  my  door  to 
any  strolHng  vagabone  like  you." 

"  Produce  the  man  we  want,"  said  the  sheriff,  *'  or  we 
shall  arrest  you  for  harboring  an  outlaw  and  a  murder- 
er. Your  liouse  is  now  surrounded  by  military,  acting 
under  the  King's  orders." 

"  Give  me  time,"  said  the  crone  ;  "I  was  at  my 
prayers  when  you  came  to  disturb  me,  and  I'll  finish 
them  before  I  open  the  door,  if  you  were  to  burn  the 
house  over  my  head,  and  myself  in  it.  Up,"  said  she 
to  the  Rapparee,  "  through  the  roof — get  that  ould  table 
undher  your  feet — the  thatch  is  thin — slip  out,  and  lie 
on  the  roof  till  they  go,  and  then  let  them  whistle  jigs 
to  the  larks,  if  tliey  like." 

The  habits  of  escape  peculiar  to  tlie  Rapparees  were 
well  known  to  Ferg-us,  who  cautiop.ed  those  who  sur- 
rounded  the  house  to  watch  the  roof.  It  was  well  they 
did  so,  for  in  less  time  than  we  have  taken  to  describe 


358  WILLY    REILLY. 

it,  the  body  of  the  Rapparee  was  seen  projecting*  itself 
upwards  through  the  thin  thatch,  and  in  an  instant 
several  nuiskets  were  levelled  at  him,  with  instant  orders 
to  surrender  on  pain  of  being  shot.  Under  such  circum- 
stances there  was  no  alternative,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
he  was  handcuffed  and  a  prisoner.  The  party  then  pro- 
ceeded along  the  road  on  which  some  of  the  adventures 
already  recorded  in  this  narrative  had  taken  place,  when 
they  were  met  at  a  sharp  angle  of  it,  by  Eeilly  and  his  Co- 
leen  Baivn  both  of  whom  were  almost  instantly  recognized 
by  the  sheriff  iind  his  p^rty .    Their  arrest  was  immediate. 

''  Mr.  Reilly,'^  said  the  sheriff,  ^'I  am  sorry  for  this. 
You  must  feel  aware  that  I.  neither  am  nor  ever  was 
disposed  to  be  ^^our  enemy  ;  but  I  now  find  you  carry- 
ing away  a  Protestant  heiress,  the  daughter  of  my 
friend,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  the  land  ;  a  fact  which 
in  itself  gives  me  the  power  and  authority  to  take  you 
into  custody,  which  I  accordingly  do,  in  his  Majesty's 
name.  I  owe  you  no  ill  will,  but,  in  tlie  meantime,  you 
must  return  with  me  to  Squire  Folliard's  house.  Miss 
Folliard,  you  must,  as  you  know  me  to  be  your  father's 
friend,  consider  that  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  restore  you  to 
him." 

^'I  am  not  without  means  of  defence,"  replied 
Eeilly,  *^  but  the  exercise  of  such  means  would  be  useless. 
Two  of  your  lives  I  might  take;  but  yours,  Mr.  Sheriff, 
could  not  be  one  of  them,  and  that  you  must   feel." 

*'  I  feel,  Mr.  Reilly,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor ;  and 
in  point  of  fact,  there  is  ample  apology  for  your  conduct 
in  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  3^oung  lady  who  accom- 
panies you  ;  but  I  must  also  feel  for  her  father,  whose 
bereavement,  occasioned  by  her  loss,  would  most  as- 
suredly break  liis  heart." 

Here  a  deep  panting  of  the  bosom,  accompanied  by 
violent  sobs,  was  heard  by  tlie  party  and  Coleen  Baivn 
whispered  to  Reilly,  in  a  voice  nearly  stifled  by  grief 
and  excitement: — 


WILLY    REILLY.  359 

"Dear  Reilly,  I  love  you;  but  it  was  madness  in  us 
to  take  this  step  ;  let  nie  return  to  my  father — only  let 
me  see  him  safe." 

"But  Whitecraftf 

"  Death  sooner.  Reilly,  lam  ill,  I  am  ill — this  strug- 
gle is  too  much  for  me.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Mv  head  is 
swimming." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  Avhen  her 
father,  accompanied  by  his  servant,  dashed  rapidly  up  ; 
and  Cunmnske}",  the  old  huntsman,  instantly  seized 
Reilly,  exclaimed,  "Mr.  Reilly,  w^e  have  you  now," 
and,  whilst  he  spoke,  his  impetuous  old  master  dashed 
his  horse  to  one  side,  and  discharged  a  pistol  at  our  he- 
ro, and  this  failing,  he  discharged  another.  Thanks 
to  Lanigan,  however,  they  were  both  harmless,  that 
worthy  man  having  forgotten  to  put  in  bullets  or  even 
as  much  powder  as  would  singe  one  ordinary  whisker. 

"Forbear,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  addressing  Cum- 
miskey ;  ."  unhand  Mr.  Reilly.  He  is  already  in  cus- 
tody ;  and  you,  Mr.  Folliard,  may  thank  God  that  you 
are  not  a  murderer  this  night.  As  a  father,  I  grant 
that  an  apology  may  be  made  for  your  resentment ;  but 
not  to  the  shedding  of  blood." 

"Lanigan!  villain!  treacherous  and  deceitful  vil- 
lain !"  shouted  the  squire  ;  "  it  was  your  perfidy  that  de- 
prived me  of  my  revenge.  Begone,  you  sneaking  old 
profligate,  and  never  let  me  see  your  face  again.  You 
did  not  load  my  pistols  as  you  ought." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Lanigan,  "and  I  thank  God  that 
I  did  not.  It  wasn't  my  intention  to  see  your  honor 
hanged  for  murder." 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  observed  the  sheriff,  "  you  ought  to 
bless  God  that  gave  you  a  prudent  servant,  who  had 
too  much  conscience  to  become  the  instrument  of  your 
vengeance.  Restrain  your  resentment  for  the  present, 
and  leave  Mr.  Reilly  to  tlie  laws  of  his  country.  We 
shall  now  proceed  to  your  house,  where  as  a  magis- 


360  WILLY    REILLY. 

trate,  you  can  commit  him  to  prison,  and  I  will  see  the 
warrant  executed  this  nig4it.  We  have  also  another 
prisoner  of  some  celebrity,  the  Red  Rapparee." 

"  By  G — ,  ril  go  bail  for  him,"  replied  the  infuria- 
ted squire;  "I  like  that  fellow,  because  Reilly  does 
not.  Sir  Robert  spoke  to  me  in  his  favor.  Yes,  I  shall 
go  bail  for  him,  to  any  amount." 

"His  offence  is  not  a  bailable  one,"  said  the  cool 
sheriff;  "nor,  if  the  thing  were  possible,  would  it  be 
creditable  in  you,  as  a  magistrate,  to  offer  yourself  as 
bail  for  a  common  robber,  one  of  the  most  notorious 
highwaymen  of  the  day." 

"  Well,  but,  come  along,"  replied  the  squire ;  "  I  have 
changed  my  mind ;  we  shall  hang  them  both  ;  Sir  Rob- 
ert will  assist  and  support  me.  1  could  overlook  the 
offence  of  a  man  who  only  took  my  purse  ;  yes,  I  coidcl 
overlook  that ;  but  the  man  who  would  rob  me  of  my 
child — of  the  solace  and  prop  of  my  heart  and  life — of 
_of_of— " 

Here  the  tears  came  down  his  cheek  so  copiously 
that  his  sobs  prevented  him  from  proceeding.  He 
recovered  himself,  however,  for,  indeed,  he  was  yet 
scarcely  sober  after  the  evening's  indulgence,  and  the 
two  parties  returned  to  his  house,  where,  after  having 
taken  two  or  three  glasses  of  Burgundy  to  make  his  hand 
steady,  he  prepared  himself  to  take  the  sheriff's  infor- 
mations, and  sign  unfortunate  Reilly's  committal  to  Sli- 
go  jail.  The  vindictive  tenacity  of  resentment  by 
which  the  heart  of  the  ruffian  Rapparee  was  animated 
against  that  young  man  was  evinced  on  this  occasion 
by  a  Satanic  ingenuity  of  malice  that  was  completely 
in  keeping  with  the  ruffian's  character.  It  was  quite 
clear,  from  the  circumstances  we  are  about  to  relate, 
that  the  red  miscreant  had  intended  to  rob  Folliard's 
house  on  the  night  of  his  attack  upon  it,  in  addition  to 
the  violent  abduction  of  his  daughter.  We  must  pre- 
mise here,  that  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  were  each  strong- 


WILLY    REILLY.  361 

ly  guar  Jed  in  different  rooms,  and  the  first  tiling-  the 
latter  did  was  to  g-et  some  one  to  inform  Mr.  P^oUiard 
that  he  had  a  matter  oF  importance  concerning  Reilly 
to  mention  to  him.  This  was  immediately  on  tlieir  re- 
turn, and  before  the  informations  against  Reilly  were 
drawn  up.  Folliard,  who  knew  not  what  to  tiiink, 
paused  for  some  time,  and,  at  last,  taking  the  sheriff 
along  with  him,  went  to  hear  what  O'Donnell  had  to  say. 

''  Is  the  ruffian  safe  ?  "  he  asked,  before  entering  the 
room  ;  *'  have  you  so  secured  him  that  he  can't  be  mis- 
chievous?" 

"  Quite  safe,  your  honor,  and  as  harmless  as  a 
lamb." 

He  and  the  sheriff  then  entered,  and  found  the  huge 
savage  champing  his  teeth  and  churning  with  his  jaws, 
until  a  line  of  white  froth  encircled  his  mouth,  render- 
ing him  a  hideous  and  fearful  object  to  look  at. 

'^  What  is  this  5'Ou  want  with  me,  you  misbegotten 
villain?"  said  the  squire;  ''  stand  between  the  ruffian 
and  me,  fellows  ;  in  the  meantime — what  is  it,  sirrah?  " 

''Who's  the  robber,  now,  Mr.  Folliard?"  he  asked, 
with  something,  however,  of  a  doubtful  triumph  in  his 
red,  glaring  eye.  ''  Your  daughter  had  jewels  in  a 
black  cabinet,  and  I'd  have  secured  the  same  jewels 
and  your  daughter  along  with  them,  on  a  certain  night, 
only  for  Reilly  ;  and  it  was  very  natural  he  should 
outgeneral  me,  which  he  did  ;  but  is  was  only  to  get 
both  for  himself.  Let  him  be  searched  at  wanst,  and, 
although  I  don't  say  he  has  them,  yet  I'd  give  a  hun- 
dred to  one  he  has  ;  she  would  never  carry  them  wliile 
he  was  with  her." 

The  old  squire,  who  would  now  with  peculiar  pleas- 
ure have  acted  in  the  capacity  of  a  hangman  in  Reilly's 
case,  had  the  unfortunate  young  man  been  doomed  to 
undergo  the  penalty  of  the  law,  and  that  no  person  in 
the  shape  of  Jack  Ketch  was  forthcoming — he,  we 
say — the  squire — started  at  once   to   the  room  where 


362  WILLY    REILLY, 

Reilly  was  secured,  accompanied  also  by  the  sheriff ; 
and,  after  rushing  in  with  a  countenance  inflamed  by 
passion,  shouted  out  : 

"  Seize  and  examine  that  villain;  he  has  robbed 
me — examine  him  instantly;  he  has  stolen  the  family 
jewels." 

Reilly's  countenance  fell,  for  lie  knew  his  fearful 
position ;  but  that  which  weighed  heaviest  upon  his 
heart  was  a  consciousness  of  the  misinterpretations 
which  the  world  might  put  upon  the  motives  of  his 
conduct  in  this  elopement,  imputing  it  to  selfishness 
and  a  mercenary  spirit.  When  about  to  be  searched, 
he  said  : — 

^^  You  need  not ;  I  will  not  submit  to  the  indignity 
of  such  an  examination.  I  have  and  hold  the  jewels 
for  Miss  Folliard,  whose  individual  property  I  believe 
they  are ;  nay,  I  am  certain  of  it,  because  she  told  me 
so,  and  requested  me  to  keep  them  for  her.  Let  her  be 
sent  for,  and  I  shall  hand  them  back  to  her  at  once,  but 
to  no  other  person  without  violence." 

^^But  she  is  not  in  a  condition  to  receive  them,"  re- 
plied the  sheriff  (which  was  a  fact)  ;  ''  I  pledge  my 
honor,  she  is  not." 

'^  Well,  then,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I  place  them  in  your  hands ; 
you  can  do  with  them  as  yoa  wish  ;  that  is,  either  return 
them  to  Miss  Folliard,  the  legal  owner  of  them,  or  to  her 
father." 

The  sheriff  received  the  casket  which  contained  them, 
and  immediately  handed  it  to  Mr.  Folliard,  who  put  it 
in  his  pocket,  exclaiming:  — 

*'  Now,  Reilly,  if  we  can  hang  you  for  nothing  else, 
we  can  hang  you  for  this ;   and  we  will,  sir." 

^'  You,  sir,"  said  Reilly,  with  melancholy  indignation, 
*^  are  privileged  to  insult  me  ;  so,  alas  !  is  every  man 
now ;  but  I  can  retire  into  the  integrity  of  my  own  heart, 
and  find  a  consolation  there,  of  which  you  cannot  de- 
prive me.     My  life  is  now  a  consideration  of  no  impor- 


WILLY    REILLY.  363 

tance  to  myself,  since  I  shall  die  with  the  consciousness 
tliat  your  daughter  loved  me.  You  do  not  hear  this  for 
the  first  time,  for  that  daughter  avowed  it  to  you  !  and 
if  I  had  been  mean  and  unprincipled  enough  to  have 
abandoned  my  religion  and  that  of  my  persecuted  fore- 
fathers, I  might  ere  this  have  been  her  husband." 

''  Come,"  said  Folliard,  who  was  not  prepared  with  an 
answer  to  this — '^  come,"  said  he,  addressing  the  sheriff 
'^  come,  till  we  make  out  his  miitimuSj  and  give  him  the 
first  shove  to  the  gallows." 

They  then  left  him. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

SIR  ROBERT  ACCEPTS  OF    AN  INVITATION. 

The  next  morning  rumor  had,  as  they  say,  her  hands 
and  tongues  very  full  of  business.  Reilly  and  the  Red 
Rapparee  were  lodged  in  the  Sligo  jail  that  night,  and 
the  next  morning  the  fact  was  carried  by  the  aforesaid 
rumor  far  and  wide  over  the  whole  country.  One  of 
the  first  whose  ears  it  reached  was  the  gallant  and  vir- 
tuous Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  who  no  sooner  heard  it 
than  he  ordered  his  horse,  and  rode  at  a  rapid  rate  to 
see  Mr.  Folliard,  in  order,  now  that  Reilly  was  out  of 
the  way,  to  propose  an  instant  marriage  with  the  Coleen 
Baivn.  He  found  the  old  man  in  a  state  very  difficult 
to  be  described,  for  he  had  only  just  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  from  the  strongly  sentinelled  chamber  of 
his  daughter.  Indignation  against  Reilly  seemed  now 
nearly  lost  in  the  melancholy  situation  of  the  wretched 
Coleen  Baivn,  He  had  just  seen  her  ;  but,  somehow, 
the  interview  had  saddened  and  depressed  his  heart. 
Her  position  and  the  state  of  her  feelings  would  have 
been  pitiable,  even  to  the  e3^e  of  a  stranger;  what,  then. 


364  WILLY    REILLY. 

must  they  not  have  been  to  a  father  who  loved  her  as 
he  did? 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  as  he  took  a  chair  in  her  room,  after 
her  guards  had  been  desired  to  \vithdraw  for  a  time, 
"  Helen,  are  you  aware  that  you  have  eternally  dis- 
graced your  own  name,  and  that  of  your  father  and 
your  family  V 

Helen,  who  was  as  pale  as  death,  looked  at  him  with 
vacant  and  unrecognizing  eyes,  but  made  no  reply,  for 
it  was  evident  that  she  either  had  not  heard,  or  did  not 
understand  a  word  he  said. 

^*  Helen,"  said  he,  '^  did  you  hear  me? " 

She  looked  upon  him  with  along  look  of  distress  and 
misery,  but  there  was  the  vacancy  still,  and  no  recog- 
nition. 

This,  I  suppose,  thought  the  father,  is  just  the  case 
with  every  love-sick  girl  in  her  condition,  who  will  not' 
be  allowed  to  have  her  own  w^ay  ;  but  of  what  use  is  a 
father  unless  he  puts  all  this  nonsense  down,  and 
substitutes  his  own  judgment  for  that  of  a  silly  girl.  I 
will  say  something  now  that  will  startle  her,  and  I  will  say 
nothing  but  what  I  will  bring  about. 

'^  Helen,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "are  you  both  deaf  and 
blind,  that  you  can  neither  see  nor  hear  your  father, 
and  to-morrow  your  weddirg  day  I  SirRolDert  White- 
craft  will  be  here  early  ;  the  special  license  is  procured ; 
and  after  the  marriage,  you  and  he  start  for  his  En- 
glish estates,  to  spend  the  honeymoon  there,  after  wdiich 
yoa  both  must  return  and  live  with  me,  for  I  need 
scarcel}^  say,  Helen,  that  I  could  not  live  without  you. 
Now,  I  think,  }'ou  ought  to  be  a  happy  girl  to  get  a 
husband  possessed  of  such  immense  property," 

She  started  and  looked  at  him  with  something  like 
returning  consciousness.  '^  But  where  is  Willy  Reilly  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  The  villain  that  would  have  ,  robbed  me  of  my 
property  and  my  daughter  is  now   safe  in  Sligo  jail." 


WILLY    REILLY.  :;()5 

A  flash  of  something  like  joy — at  least  tlie  fatlier 
took  it  as  such — sparkled  in  a  strange  kind  of  triumph 
from  lier  eyes. 

^^  Ha,"  said  she,  '^  is  that  villain  safe  at  last  I  Dear 
papa,  I  am  tired  of  all  this — this — yes,  I  am  tired  of  it, 
and  it  is  time  I  should ;  but  you  talked  about  some- 
thing else,  did  you  not  ?  Something  about  Sir  liobert 
Whitecraft  and  a  marriage.  And  what  is  my  reply  to 
this  ?  why,  it  is  this,  papa.  /  have  hut  one  life,  sir. 
Now,  begone,  and  leave  me,  or,  upon  my  honor,  I  will 
push  you  out  of  the  room.  Have  I  not  consented  to  all 
your  terms?  Let  Sir  Robert  come  to-morrow  and  he 
shall  call  me  his  wife  before  the  sun  reaches  his  me- 
ridian.    Now,  leave  me ;  leave  me,  I  say.." 

In  this  uncertain  state,  her  fatherfound  himself  com- 
pelled to  retire  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Sir  Robert 
and  he  met. 

''Mr.    Folliard,"   said  the  baronet,    *' is  this  true!" 
''  Is  what  true.  Sir  Robert  I"  said  he,  sharply. 
''  Why,  that  Reilly  and  the  Red  Rapparee  are  both  in 
Sligojaiir 

"  It  is  true.  Sir  Robert ;  and  it  must  be  a  damned 
thing  to  be  in  jail  for  a  capital  crime." 

'*  Are  you  becoming  penitent,"  asked  the  other,  ''  for 
bringing  the  laws  of  the  land  to  bear  upon  the  villain 
that  would  have  disgraced,  and  might  have  ruined,  your 
only  daughtei- !" 

The  father's  heart  was  stung  by  the  diabolical  pun- 
gency of  this  question, 

''  Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  ''  we  will  hang  him,  if  it  was 
only  to  get  the  villain  out  of  the  way  ;  and  if  you  will 
be  here  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  the  marriage  must 
take  place.  I'll  suffer  no  further  nonsense  about  it ;  but, 
mark  me,  after  the  honeymoon  has  passed,  you  and  shie 
must  come  and  reside  here ;  to  think  that  I  could  live 
without  her  is  impossible.  Be  here,  then,  at  ten  o'clock ; 
the  special  license  is  ready,  and  I  have  asked  the  Rev* 


366  WILLY    RKTLLY. 

Samson  Strong  to  perform  the  ceremony.  A  couple  of 
my  neighbor  Ashford's  dangliters  will  act  as  brides- 
maids, and  I  myself  will  give  lier  aw^ay ;  the  marriaire 
articles  are  drawn  up,  as  you  know,  and  there  will  be 
little  time  lost  in  signing  them  ,-  and  yet,  d — n  me,  hni 
it's  a  pity  to — but  no  matter — be  here  at  ten." 

Whitecraft  took  his  leave  in  high  spirits.  The  arrest 
and  imprisonment  of  Reilly  had  removed  the  great  im- 
pediment that  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  way  of  his  mar- 
riage ;  but  not  so  the  imprisonment  of  the  Red  Rap- 
paree.  The  baronet  regretted  that  that  public  and  no- 
torious malefactor  had  been  taken  out  of  his  own  hands 
because  he  wished,  as  the  reader  knows,  to  make  the 
delivering  of  him  up  to  the  Government  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  his  reconciliation  to  it.  Still,  as  matters  stood, 
he  felt  on  the  whole  gratified  at  what  had  happened. 

Folliard,  after  the  baronet  had  gone,  knew  not  ex- 
actly how  to  dispose  of  himself  The  truth  is,  the 
man's  heart  w^as  an  anomaly — a  series  of  contradictions, 
in  which  one  feeling  opposed  another  for  a  brief  space, 
and  then  w^as  obliged  to  make  w^ay  for  a  new  prejudice, 
equally  transitory  and  evanescent.  Whitecraft  he  never 
heartily  liked  ;  for,  though  the  man  was  blunt,  he  could 
look  through  a  knave  and  appreciate  a  man  of  honor 
with  a  great  deal  of  shrewd  accuracy.  To  be  sure, 
Whitecraft  was  enormously  rich,  but  then  he  was  pen- 
urious and  inhospitable,  two  vices  strongly  and  decided- 
ly opposed  to  the  national  feeling. 

"  D — n  the  long-legged  scoundrel,"  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  if  he  should  beget  me  a  young  breed  of  Whitecrafts, 
like  himself,  I  would  rather  m}"  daughter  were  dead 
than  marry  him.  Tlien,  on  the  other  hand,  Reilly; 
d — n  the  fellow,  had  he  only  recanted  his  nonsensical 
creed,  I  could — but  then,  again,  he  might,  after  mar- 
riage, bring  her  over  to  tlie  Papist,  and  then  by all 

my  immense  property  would  become  Roman  Catholic. 
By  heavens,  he'd  teach  the  very  rivers  that  run  through 


WILl.Y    RE  ILLY.  367 

it  to  slug  Popisli  psalms  in  Latin  ;  lie  would.  However, 
the  best  way  is  to  hang  him  out  of  the  way,  and  when 
Jack  Keteli  has  done  with  him,  so  has  Helen.  D — n 
Whitecraft,  at  all  events  !  " 

We  may  as  well  hint  here  that  he  had  touched  the 
Burgundy  to  some  purpose  ;  he  was  now  in  that  state 
of  mental  imbecility  where  reason,  baffled  and  prostrated 
by  severe  mental  suffering  and  agitation,  was  incapable 
of  sustaining  him  without  having  resorted  to  the  bot- 
tle. In  the  due  course  of  the  night  he  was  helped  to 
bed,  and  had  scarcel}^  been  placed  and  covered  up  there 
when  he  fell  fast  asleep. 

Whitecraft,  in  the  meantime,  suspected,  of  course,  or 
rather  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact  that,  unless 
by  some  ingenious  manoeuvre,  of  which  he  could  form 
no  conception,  a  marriage  with  the  Coleen  Baivn  would 
be  a  matter  of  surpassing  difficulty';  but  he  cared  not,, 
provided  it  could  be  effected  by  any  means,  whether 
foul  or  fair.  The  attachment  of  this  scoundrel  to  the 
fail'  and  beautiful  Coleen  Baivn  was  composed  of  two  of 
the  worst  principles  of  the  heart —  sensuality  and  avarice. 
Had  Miss  Folliard  been  the  daughter  of  an  humble 
man,  he  would  probably  have  given  from  ten  to  twenty 
pounds  to  accomplish  her  seduction ;  but  if  she  proved 
virtuous,  and  rejected  his  base  proposals  with  scorn,  he 
would  have  sneered  at  her,  kept  bis  money,  and  betaken 
himself  to  a  cheaper  market.  But  in  this  instance 
avarice  came  in  to  support  sensuality.  What  the  licen- 
tious passions  of  the  debauchee  might  have  failed  to 
tempt  him  to,  the  consideration  of  her  large  fortune  ac- 
complished. And  such  was  the  sordid  and  abominable 
union  of  the  motives  which  spurred  him  on  to  the  mar- 
riage. 

The  next  morning,  being  that  wiiicli  was  fixed  for  his 
wedding-day,  he  was  roused  at  an  early  hour  by  aloud 
rapping  at  his  hall  door.  He  started  on  his  elbow  in 
the  bed,  and  ringing  the  bell  for  his  valet,  asked,  when 


368  WILLY   REILLY. 

that  gentleman  entered  liis  apartment  half  dressed— 
*'  wliat  was  the  matter?  what  d — d  knockino- was  that! 
DoL't  tliey  know  I  can  hunt  neither  priest  nor  Papist 
now,  since  this  polite  Viceroy  came  here." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is,  Sir  Robert;  thej 
are  at  it  again ;  shall  I  open  tlie  door,  sir !  " 

"  Certainly,  open  the  door  immediately." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  dress,  Sir  Robert,  and  see 
■svhat  they  want." 

The  baronet  threw  his  long,  fleshless  shanks  out  of  the 
bed,  and  began  to  get  on  his  clothes  as  fast  as  he  could. 

^'  Ha  !  "  said  he,  when  he  was  nearly  dressed  ;  ''  good 
God  !  what  if  this  should  be  a  Government  prosecution 
for  what  I  have  undertaken  to  do  on  my  own  responsi- 
bihty  during  the  last  Administration  ?  But  no,  surely 
it  cannot  be  ;  they  would  have  given  me  some  intima- 
tion of  their  proceedings.  This  w^as  due  to  my  rank 
and  station  in  the  country,  and  to  my  exertions,  as  a 
zealous  Protestant,  to  sustain  the  existence  of  Church 
and  State.  D — n  Church  and  State,  if  it  be  !  I  have 
got  myself,  perhaps,  into  a  pretty  mess  by  them." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  tlie  last  words  when  Mr. 
Hastings,  accompanied  by  two  or  three  officers  of  jus- 
tice entered  his  bed-room. 

"  Ah,  Hastings,  my  dear  friend,  what  is  the  matter? 
Is  there  anything  wrong,  or  can  I  be  of  any  assistance 
to  you  ?  if  so,  command  me.  But  we  are  out  of  pow- 
er now,  you  know.  Still,  show  me  how  I  can  assist 
you.  How  do  you  do  ?  "  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  put  his 
hand  out  to  sliake  hands  wath  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  No,  Sir  Robert,  I  cannot  take  3^our  hand,  nor  the 
hand  of  any  man  that  is  red  with  the  blood  of  murder. 
This,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  officers,  ''  is  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft ;  arrest  him  for  murder  and  arson." 

"Why,  good  God,  Mr.  Hastings,  are  you  mad? 
Surely,  I  did  nothing,  unless  under  the  sanction  and 
by  the  instructions  of  the  last  Government  ?  " 


WILLY    REILLY.  369 

>^  That  remains  to  be  seen,  Sir  Robert ;  but,  at  all 
events,  I  cannot  enter  into  any  discussion  with  you  at 
present.  I  am  here  as  a  magistrate.  Informations 
have  been  sworn  against  }'0u  by  several  parties,  and 
you  must  now  consider  yourself  our  prisoner,  and 
come  along  with  us.  There  is  a  party  of  cavalry  be- 
low, to  escort  you  to  Sligo  jail." 

''But  how  am  I  to  be  conveyed  there?  I  hope  I 
will  be  allowed  my  own  carriage  I " 

''  Unquestionably,"  replied  Mr.  Hastings ;  ^'  I  was 
about  to  have  proposed  it  myself.  You  shall  be  treat- 
ed wdth  every  respect,  sir." 

''  May  I  not  breakfast  before  I  go  ?  " 

''  You  may,  sir;  w^e  wish  to  discharge  our  duty  in 
the  mildest  possible  manner." 

"Thank  you,  Hastings,  thank  you;  you  w^ere  al- 
ways a  good-hearted,  gentlemanly  fellow.  You  will, 
of  course,  breakfast  wdth  me ;  and  these  men  must  be 
attended  to.'' 

And  he  rang  the  bell. 

"I  have  already  breakfasted,  Sir  Robert;  but  even 
if  I  had  not,  it  would  not  become  me,  as  your  prose- 
cutor, to  do  so ;  but,  perhaps,  the  men " 

''  What,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  interrupting  him, 
*'  you  my  prosecutor  !     For  w^hat,  pray  I  " 

"  That  will  come  in  time,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  and 
you  may  rest  assured  that  I  would  not  be  here  now% 
were  I  not  made  aware  that  you  were  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  that  sweet  girl,  whom  you  have  persecuted  with 
such  a  mean  and  unmanly  spirit,  and  design  to  start 
with  for  Eno-land  this  day." 

Whitecraft,  now  that  he  felt  the  dreadful  conse- 
quences of  the  awful  position  in  which  he  was  placed, 
became  the  very  picture  of  despair  and  pusillanimity ; 
his  complexion  turned  haggard,  his  eyes  wild,  and  his 
hands  trembled  so  much  that  he  was  not  able  to  bring 
the  tea  or  bread  and  butter  to  his  lips  in  the  act,  .such 


370  WILLY    KKILLY. 

an  impersonntion  of  rank  and  uin.nanly  cowardice 
could  not  be  witnessed.  He  rose  up,  exclaiming,  in  a 
faint  and  hollow  voice,  that  echoed  no  other  sensation 
than  that  of  horror : — 

"I  cannot  breakfast;  I  can  eat  nothing.  Good 
God  !  what  a  fate  is  this  !  on  the  very  day,  too,  which 
I  thought  would  have  consummated  my  happiness  !  O 
it  is  dreadful ! " 

His  servant  then,  by  Mr.  Hastings'  orders,  packed 
up  changes  of  linen  and  apparel  in  his  trunk ;  for  he 
saw  that- he  himself  had  not  the  presence  of  mind  to 
pay  attention  to  an}' thing.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
minutes  the  carriage  was  ready,  and  with  tottering 
steps  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  was  obliged  to  be 
assisted  into  it  by  two  constables,  who  took  their  places 
beside  him.  Mr.  Hastings  bowed  to  him  coldly,  but 
said  nothing;  the  coachman  smacked  his  whip,  and 
was  about  to  start,  when  he  turned  round,  and  said  : — 
"Where  am  I  to  drive,  Sir  Robert?" 
"  To  Sligo  jail,"  replied  one  of  the  constables,  "  as 
quick  as  you  can,  too.'' 

The  horses  got  a  lash  or  two,  and  bounded  on;  whilst 
an  escort  of  cavalry,  with  swords  drawn,  attended  the 
coach  until  it  reached  its  gloomy  destination,  where 
Vv^e  will  leave  it  for  the  present. 

The  next  morning,  as  matters  approached  to  a  crisis,  the 

unsteady  old  squire   began  to  feel  less  comfortable  in 

his  mind  thanhe  could  have  expected.    To  say  tlie  truth, 

he  had  often  felt  it  rather  an  unnatural  process  to  marry 

so  lovely  a  girl  to    "  such  a   d — d  stork  of  a  man   as 

Whitecraft  was,  and  a  knave  to  boot.     I  cannot  forget 

how  he    took  me   in   by   the    '  Hop-and-go-Constant 

affair.'     But  then,  he's  a  good   Protestant — not  that   I 

mean    lie  has  a  single   spark  of  religion  in  his  non- 

'.^script  carcass ;    but  in  these  times  it's    not  canting 

id  psalm- singing  we  want,  but  good  political  Protes- 

intisnij  that  will  enable  us  to  maintain  our  ascendancy 


WILLY    REILLY.  371 

by  other  iiieaus  than  praying.  Curse  the  liouncl,  wliat 
keeps  him  f  Is  this  a  day  for  him  to  be  hxte  on  I  and  it 
now  half-past  ten  o'clock ;  however,  he  must  come 
soon ;  but,  upon  my  soul,  I  dread  what  will  happen 
when  he  does.  A  scene  there  will  be,  no  doubt  of  it ; 
however,  we  must  only  struggle  through  it  as  well  as 
we  can.  I'll  go  and  see  Helen,  and  try  to  reconcile  her 
to  this  chap,  or,  at  all  events,  to  let  her  know  at  once 
that,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may,  she  must 
marry  him,  if  I  were  myself  to  hold  her  at  the  altar." 

On  entering  Helen's  chamber,  he  ordered  her  atten- 
dants out  of  the  room  ;  but  on  looking  at  her,  he  felt 
surprised  to  perceive  that  her  complexion,  instead  of 
being  pale,  was  quite  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashing 
with  a  strange  wild  light  that  he  had  never  seen  in 
them  before. 

*'  Helen,"  said  he,  ^'  what's  the  matter,  love!  are  you 
unwell  ?  " 

She  placed  her  two  snowy  hands  on  her  temples, 
and  pressed  them  tightly,  as  if  striving  to  compress  her 
brain,  and  bring  it  within  the  influence  of  reason. 

'^  I  fear  you  are  unwell,  darling,"  he  continued  ;  '^  you 
look  flushed  and  feverish.  Don't  however,  be  alarmed 
if  you're  not  well,  I'd  see  that  knave  of  a  fellow  to 
the  devil  before  I'd  marry  you  to  him,  and  you  in  that 
state.  The  thing's  out  of  the  question,  my  darling 
Helen,  and  mnst  not  be  done.  No  ;  God  forbid  that  I 
should  be  the  means  of  murdering  my  only  child." 

The  truth  was,  that  the  undefinable  old  squire  was 
the  greatest  parental  coward  in  the  world.  In  the  ab- 
sense  of  his  daughter,  he  would  rant,  and  swear,  and 
vapor,  strike  the  ground  with  his  staff,  and  give  other 
indications  of  the  most  extraordinary  resolution,  com- 
bined with  fiery  passion,  tliat  seemed  alarming.^  No 
sooner,  however,  did  he  go  into  her  presence,  and  con- 
template not  only  her  wonderful  beauty,  but  her  good- 
ness, her  tenderness  and  affection  for  himself,  than  the 


372  VILLY   EEILLY. 

bluster  departed  from  him,  his  resolution  fell,  his 
courage  oozed  away,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  fairly  sub- 
dued ;  under  which  circumstances  he  generall}^  entered 
into  a  new  treaty  of  friendship  and  affection  with  the 
enemy. 

Helen's  head  was  aching*  dreadfully,  and  she  felt 
feverish  and  distracted.  Her  father's  words,  however, 
and  the  affection  which  they  expressed,  went  to  her 
heart ;  she  threw  her  arms  about  him,  kissed  him,  and 
was  relieved  by  a  copious  flood  of  tears. 

''Papa,"  she  said,  ''you  are  both  kind  and  good; 
surely  you  would'nt  kill  your  poor  Helen  ?  " 

''  Me  kill  you,  Helen  !— 0  no,  faith.  If  Whitecraft 
were  hanged  to-morrow,  it  wouldn't  give  me  half  so 
much  pain  as  if  your  little  finger  ached." 

Just  at  this  progress  of  the  dialogue,  a  smart  and  im- 
patient knock  came  to  the  door. 

"  AVho  is  that!  "  said  the  squire  ;  ''  come  in — or,  stay 
till  I  see  who  you  are."  He  then  opened  the  door,  and 
exclaimed — "  What !  Lanigan  ! — why,  you  infernal  old 
scoundrel !  how  dare  you  have  the  assurance  to  look  me 
in  the  face,  or  to  come  under  my  roof  at  all,  after  what 
I  said  to  you  about  the  pistols  !  " 

''  Ay,  but  you  don't  know  the  good  news  I  have  for 
you  and  Miss  Helen." 

"  0  Lanigan,  is  Reilly  safe? — is  he  set  at  large  ?  0 
I  am  sure  he  must  be.  Never  w^as  so  noble,  so  pure, 
and  so  innocent  a  heart." 

"  Curse  him,  look  at  the  eye  of  him,"  said  her  father, 
pointing  liis  cane  at  Lanigan,  "  it's  like  the  eye  of  a 
sharp -shooter.  What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  old 
scoundrel ! " 

''  Didn't  you  expect  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  here  to- 
day, to  marry  Miss  FolHard,  sir  ?" 

"I  did,  sirrah,  and  I  do — he'll  be  here  immediately." 
^'  Devil  a  foot  he'll  come  to-day,  I  can  tell  you;  and 
that's  the  way  he  treats  3'our  daughter  !  " 


'^  What  does  this  old  idiot  mean,  Helen?  Have  you 
been  drirddng,  sirrah*?  " 

'^  Not  yet,  sir,  but  plaze  the  Lord,  I'll  soon  be  at  it." 

^'  Lanigan,"  said  Helen,  '*  will  you  state  at  once  what 
you  have  to  say!  " 

"I  will,  Miss;  but  first  and  foremost,  I  must  show 
you  how  to  dance  the  '  Little  house  under  the  hill ;  ' '' 
and  as  he  spoke,  he  commenced  whistling  tliat  celebrat- 
ed air,  and  dancing  to  it  with  considerable  alacrity  and 
vigor,  making  allowances  for  his  age. 

The  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each  other,  and 
Heleu,  notwithstanding  her  broken  spirits,  could  not 
avoid  smiling.  Lanigan  continued  the  dance  ;  kept 
wdieeling  about  to  all  parts  of  the  room,  like  an  old  mad- 
cap ;  cutting,  capering,  and  knocking  up  his  heel  against 
his  ham,  with  a  vivacity  that  was  a  perfect  mystery  to 
his  two  spectators,  as  was  his  whole  conduct. 

^'  Now,  you  drunken  old  scoundrel,"  said  his  master, 
catching  him  by  the  collar  and  flourishing  the  cane 
over  his  head,  ''  if  you  don't  give  a  direct  answer  I  will 
cane  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life,  What  do  you 
mean  when  you  say  that  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  won't 
come  here  to-day  I  " 

^'Bekaise,  sir,  it  isn't  convanient  to  him.'' 

a  Why  isn't  it  convenient,  3^ou  scoundrel*?" 

"  Bekaise,  sir,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  try  a  change 
of  air  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  before  he  starts  upon 
his  journey ;  and  as  he  got  a  very  friendly  invitation  to 
spend  some  time  in  Sligo  jail,  he  accepted  it,  and  if  you 
go  there  you  will  find  him  before  you.  It  seems  he 
started  this  morninor-  in  g^reat  state,  with  two  nice  men 
belonging  to  the  law  in  the  carriage  with  him,  to  see 
that  he  should  want  for  nothing,  aiid  a  party  of  cavalry 
surrounding  his  honor's  coach,  as  if  he  was  the  Lord 
Lieutenant." 

Tlie  figurative  style  of  his  narrative  would  unquestion- 
ably have  caused  him  to  catch  the  weight  of  the  cane 


374  WILLY    RETLLY. 

aforesaid,  had  not  Helen  interfered,  and  saved  him  for 

the  nonce. 

*'  Let  me  at  him,  Helen,  let  me  at  him — the  d — d 
old  rip  ;  why  does  he  dare  to  humbug  us  in  this  man- 
ner f  " 

**  Well,  then,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  hear  the  good  ne^vs, 
and  especially  you,  Miss  Folliard,  it  will  probably  re- 
lieve your  heart  when  I  tell  you  that  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  is,  before  this  time,  in  the  jail  of  Sligo,  for  a 
charge  of  murdlier,  and  for  burnin'  Mr.  Reilly's  house 
and  premises,  which  it  no\Y  seems  aren't  Mr.  Reilly's  at 
all — nor  never  were — but  belong  to  Mr.  Hastings." 

^'  Good  heavens !"  exclaimed  the  squire,  "'  this  is 
dreadful ;  but  is  it  true,  sirrah?" 

"  Why,  sir,  if  you  go  to  his  house  you'll  find  it  so." 

''  0  papa,"  said  Helen,  "surely  they  wouldn't  hang 

him  r 

"  Hang  him,  Helen;  why,  Helen,  the  tide's  turned ; 
they  want  to  make  him  an  example  for  the  outrages  that 
he  and  others  have  committed  against  the  unfortunate 

Papists.     Hang  him  !  by^ ,  he  and   Reilly,  and  the 

Red  Rapparee  will  all  swing  from  the  same  gallows  ;  but 
there  is  one  thing  I  say — if  he  hangs  I  shall  take  care 
that  that  obstinate  Papist,^  Reilly,  shall  swing  along 
with  him." 

Helen  became  as  pale  as  ashes,  the  flush  had  disap- 
peared from  her  countenance,  and  she  burst  again  into 
tears. 

*'  0  papa,"  she  exclaimed,  ''  spare  Reilly  ;  lie  is  in- 
nocent." 

**  I'll  hang  him,"  he  replied;  *'if  it  should  cost  me 
ten  thousand  pounds.  Go  you,  sirrah,  and  desire  one 
of  the  grooms  to  saddle  me  black  Tom  ;  he  is  the  fast- 
est horse  in  my  stables  ;  I  cannot  rest  till  I  ascertain 
the  truth  of  this." 

On  passing  the  drawing-room  he  looked  in,  and 
found  Mr.  Strong  and  the  two  Misses  Ashford  waiting, 


wirxY  REir.LY.  075 

the  one  to  perform,  the  others  to  attend  the  cerc^inony. 

^^  Mr.  Strong,  and  Uidies,"  said  he,  with  looks  of  great 
distraction,  "  1  fear  there  will  be  no  marriage  here  to- 
day. An  accident,  I  believe,  has  happened  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft,  that  will  prevent  his  being  a  party  in  the 
ceremony,  for  this  day  at  least." 

*'  An  accident !  "  exclaimed  the  ladies  and  the  clergy- 
man.    "  What  is  it '?  how  did  it  happen  f " 

^'  I  am  just  about  to  ride  over  to  Sir  Robert's  to  learn 
everything  about  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  be  but  a  short 
time  absent.  But  how  ! "  he  added  ;  *^  here's  his  butler, 
and  I  will  get  everything  from  him.  0  Thomas,  is  this 
you  !  follow  me  to  my  study,  Thomas." 

As  the  reader  already  knows  all  that  Thomas  could 
tell  him,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  he  returned 
to  the  drawing-room  with  a  sad  and  melancholy  as- 
pect. 

^' There  is  no  use,"  said  he,  adressing  them,  ''in 
concealing  what  will  soon  be  known  to  the  world. 
Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  has  been  arrested  on  a  charge 
of  murder  and  arson,  and  is  now  a  prisoner  in  the 
county  jail." 

This  was  startling  intelligence  to  them  all,  especially 
to  the  parson,  who  found  that  the  hangman  was  likely 
to  cut  him  out  of  his  fees.  The  ladies  screamed,  and 
said,  "it  was  a  shocking  thing  to  have  that  delightful 
man  hanged ;  "  and  then  asked  if  the  bride-elect  had 
heard  it. 

*'  She  has  heard  it,"  replied  her  father,  "  and  I  have 
just  left  her  in  tears  ;  but  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  think 
there  is  one  of  them  shed  for  him.  Well,  Mr.  Strong, 
I  believe  after  all,  there  is  likely  to  be  no  marriage  ; 
but  that  is  not  your  fault ;  you  came  here  to  do  your 
duty,  and  I  think  it  only  just — a  word  Avith  you  in  the 
next  apartment,"  he  added  ;  and  then  led  the  way  to  the 
dining-room.  ''  I  was  about  to  say,  Mr.  Strong,  that  it 
could  be  neither  just  nor  reasonable  to  deprive  you  of 


376  WILLY    REILLY. 

your  fees  ;  here  is  a  ten-pound  note,  and  it  would  have 
been  twenty,  ]iad  the  marriage  taken  place.  I  must  go 
to  Sligo,  to  see  the  unfortunate  baroiiet,  and  try  what 
can  be  done  for  him ;  that  is,  if  anything  can,  which  I 
very  much  fear." 

The  parson  protested  against  the  receipt  of  the  ten- 
pound  note  very  much  in  the  style  of  a  bashful  school- 
boy, who  pretends  to  refuse  an  apple  from  a  strange  re- 
lation, when  he  comes  to  pay  a  visit,  whilst,  at  the  same 
time,  the  young  monkey's  chops  are  watering  for  it. 
With  some  faint  show  of  reluctance,  he  at  length  re- 
ceived it,  and  need  we  say  that  it  soon  disappeared  in 
one  of  his  sanctified  pockets  I 

^'  Strong,  my  dear  fellow,"  proceeded  the  squire, 
you  will  take  a  seat  with  these  ladies  in  their  carriage 
and  see  them  home.'' 

''I  w^ould,  with  pleasure,  my  dear  friend,  but  that  I 
am  called  upon  to  console  poor  Mrs.  Smellpriest  for  the 
loss  of  the  captain." 

"The  captain!  why,  what  has  happened  him?" 

''  Alas,  sir,  an  unexpected  and  unhapp}^  fate.  He 
went  out  at  night  a  priest-hunting,  like  a  godly  sports- 
man of  the  Church,  as  he  was,  and  on  his  return  from 
an  unsuccessful  chase,  fell  off  his  horse  while  in  the 
act  of  singing  that  far-famed  melody  called  LUlibuUero^ 
and  broke  his  neck." 

The  squire  seemed  amazed,  but  uttered  not  a  sylla- 
ble on  the  event.     Such  was  the  fate  of  Smellpriest. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  parties  dispersed,  and  Folliard, 
too  much  absorbed  in  the  fates  of  Reilly  and  White- 
craft,  prepared  to  ride  to  Sligo,  to  ascertain  if  an^^thing 
could  be  done  for  the  baronet.  In  the  meantime,  while 
he  and  his  old  friend  Cummiskey  are  on  their  w^ay  to 
see  that  gentleman,  we  will  ask  the  attention  of  our 
readers  to  the  state  of  Helen's  mind  as  it  was  affected  by 
the  distressing  events  which  had  so  rapidly  and  recent- 
ly  occurred,     We   need  not   assure  them,  that   deep 


WILLY    KEILLV.  oi  i 

anxiety  for  the  fete  of  liei'  unfortunate  lover  lay  upon 
her  heart  like  the  gloom  of  death  itself.  His  image  and 
his  natural  nobility  of  character,  but  above  all  the  pu- 
rity and  delicacy  of  his  love  for  herself  ;  his  manly 
and  faithful  attachment  to  his  religion,  under  temptations 
which  few  hearts  could  resist,  temptations  of  which  she 
herself  was,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most  trying  and 
the  most  difficult  to  be  withstood  ;  his  refusal  to  leave 
the  country  on  her  account,  even  when  the  bloodhoundsi 
of  the  law  were  pursuing  him  to  his  death  in  every  di- 
rection :  and  the  reflection  that  this  resolution  of  abiding 
by  her,  and  watching  over  her  welfare  and  happiness, 
and  guarding  her^  as  far  as  he  could,  from  domestic  per- 
secution ;  all  these  reflections  crowded  in  her  mind 
with  such  fearful  force  that  her  reason  began  to  totter, 
and  she  felt  apprehensive  that  she  might  not  be  able  to 
bear  the  trial  which  Reilly's  position  now  placed  before 
her  in  the  most  hideous  colors.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
was  White  craft,  a  man  who  had  committed  many  crimes 
and  murders  and  burnings,  often,  but  not  always  upon 
his  own  responibility  ;  a  man  who,  she  knew,  entertained 
no  manly  or  tender  affection  for  her  ;  he  too  about  to 
meet  a  violent  death  !  That  she  detested  him  wdtli  an 
abhorrence  as  deep  as  ever  woman  had  entertained 
against  man  was  true  ;  yet  she  was  a  woman,  and  this 
unhapp}^  fate  that  impended  over  him  was  not  excluded 
out  of  the  code  of  her  heart's  humanity.  She  wished 
him  also  to  be  saved,  if  only  that  he  might  withdrav/ 
from  Ireland,  and  of  his  crimes.  Altogether,  she  was 
in  the  state  bordering  on  frenzy  and  despair,  and  was 
often  incapable  of  continuing  a  sustained  conversation. 
When  Whitecraft  reached  the  jail  in  his  carriage, 
attended  by  a  guard  of  troopers,  the  jailer  knew  not 
what  to  make  of  it ;  but  seeing  the  carriage,  which,  after 
a  glance  or  two,  he  immediately  recognized  as  that  of 
the  well  known  Grand  Juror,  he  came  out,  and  with 
hat  in  hand,  bowing  most  obsequiously. 


378  WILLY   REILLY. 

^'  I  hope  your  honor  s  well  ;  you  are  coming  to  in- 
spect the  prisoners,  I  suppose  ?  Always  active  on  be- 
half of  Church  and  State,  Sir  Robert/' 

^'  Come,  Mr.  O'Shauglmessy,"  said  one  of  the  con- 
stables, "get  on  with  no  nonsense.  You're  a  mighty 
Church  and  State  man  now  ;  but  I  remember  when 
there  was  as  rank  a  rebel  under  your  coat  as  ever 
thumped  a  craw.  Sir  Robert,  sir,  is  here  as  our  pris- 
oner, and  will  soon  be  yours,  for  murder  and  arson,  and 
God  knows  what,  besides.  Be  pleased  to  walk  into 
the  hatch,  Sir  Robert,  and  there  we  surrender  you  to 
Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  who  will  treat  you  well  if  you 
pay  him  well." 

They  then  entered  the  hatch  j  the  constables  pro- 
duced the  mittimus  and  the  baronet's  person  both  to- 
gether, after  which  they  withdrew,  having  failed  to  get 
the  price  of  a  glass  from  the  baronet,  as  a  reward  for 
their  civility. 

Such  scenes  have  been  described  a  hundred  times, 
and  we,  consequently,  shall  not  delay  our  readers  up- 
on this.  The  baronet,  indeed,  imagined  that,  from  his 
rank  and  influence,  the  jailer,  might  be  induced  to 
give  him  comfortable  apartments.  He  was  in,  how- 
ever, for  two  capital  felonies,  and  the  jailer,  who  was 
acquainted  with  the  turn  that  public  affairs  had  taken, 
told  him  that  upon  his  soul  and  conscience,  if  the  matter 
lay  with  him,  he  wouldn't  put  his  honor  among  the 
felons ;  but  then,  he  had  no  discretion,  because  it  was 
as  much  as  his  place  was  worth  to  break  the  rules — a 
thing  he  couldn't  think  of  doing,  as  an  honest  man  and 
an  upright  officer. 

'^  But  whatever  I  can  do  for  you.  Sir  Robert,  I'll 
do." 

^*You  will  let  me  have  pen  and  ink,  won't 
you!" 

^'Well,  let  me  see.  Yes,  I  will.  Sir  Robert,  I'U 
stretch  that  far  for  the  sake  of  ould  times.'' 


WILLY    KLILLY.  379 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  SQUIRE  COMFORTS  WHITECRAFT  IN  HIS  AFFLICTION. 

The  old  squire  and  Cummiskey  lost  little  time  in 
getting  over  the  ground  to  the  town  of  Sligo,  and,  in 
order  to  reach  it  the  more  quickl}^,  they  took  a  short  cut 
by  the  old  road  which  we  have  described  at  the  be- 
ginning of  this  narrative.  On  arriving  at  that  part  of 
it  from  which  they  could  view  the  spot  where  Eeilly 
rescued  them  from  the  murderous  violence  of  the  Red 
Rapparee,  Cummisky  pointed  to  it. 

"  Does  your  honor  remember  that  place  where  you 
see  the  ould  buildin  f  '*' 

^' Yes,  I  think  so.  Is  not  that  the  place  wdiere  the 
cursed  Rapparee  attacked  us  f 

''  It  is,  sir,  and  where  poor  Reilly  saved  both  our  lives ; 
and  yet  your  honor's  goin'  to  hang  him." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,  you  old  blockhead.  It 
was  all  a  plan  got  up  by  Reilly  and  the  Rapparee  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  introduced  to  my  daughter,  for 
his  own  base  and  selfish  purposes.  Yes,  I'll  hang  him, 
certainly — no  doubt  of  that." 

''Well,  sir,"  replied  Cummiskey,  ''it's  one  comfort 
that  he  won't  hang  by  himself" 

''  No,"  said  the  otlier,  "  he  and  the  Rapparee  will 
stretch  the  same  rope." 

''Rapparee  !  faith,  sir,  he'll  have  worse  company." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sirrah  f 

"Why,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  sir;  he  always  had 
gallo\ys  written  in  his  face  ;  but  upon  my  sowl,  he'll 
soon  have  U  about  his  neck,  plase  God." 

"  Faith,  I'm  afraid  you're  not  far  from  the  truth, 
Cummiskey,'  replied  his  master  ;  "however,  I  am  go- 


380  WILLY    REILLY. 

ing  to  make  arrangements  with  him,  to  see  what  can 
be  done  for  the  unfortunate  man." 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice,  sir,  you'll  have  nothing 
tjo  do  with  him.  Keep  your  hand  out  o'  the  pot ;  there's 
no  man  can  skim  boiling  lead  with  his  hand  and  not 
burn  his  fingers — but  a  tinker. 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  you  old  dog  ;  but  ride  on,  for  I 
must  put  Black  Tom  to  his  speed." 

On  arriving  at  the  prison,  the  squire  found  Sir  Rob- 
ert pent  up  in  a  miserable  cell,  with  a  table  screwed 
to  the  floor,  a  pallet  bed,  and  a  deal  form.  Perhaps 
his  comfort  might  have  been  improved  through  the 
medium  of  his  purse,  were  it  not  that  the  Prison  Board 
had  held  a  meeting  that  very  day,  subsequent  to  his 
committal,  in  which,  with  some  dissentients,  they  con- 
sidered it  their  duty  to  warn  the  jailer  against  granting 
him  any  indulgence  beyond  what  he  was  entitled  to  as 
a  felon  ;  and  this  under  pain  of  their  earnest  displeasure. 

When  the  squire  entered  he  found  the  melancholy 
baronet  and  priest-hunter  sitting  upon  the  hard  form, 
his  head  hanging  down  upon  his  breast,  or,  indeed,  we 
might  say,  much  farther  ;  for  in  consequence  of  the  al- 
most unnatural  length  of  his  neck  it  appeared  to  be 
growing  out  of  the  middle  of  his  body,  or  of  that  flesh- 
less  vertebral  column  which  passed  for  one. 

**  Well,  baronet,"  exclaimed  Folliard,  pretty  loudly, 
''  here's  an  exchange  !  from  the  altar  to  the  halter,  from 
the  matrimonial  noose  to  honest  Jack  Ketcli's — and  a 
devilish  good  escape  it  would  be  to  many  unfortunate 
wretches  in  this  same  world." 

"O  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  the  baronet,  ''  is  not  this  ter- 
rible ?     What  will  become  of  me  ? " 

*'  Now,  I  tell  you  what,  Whitecraft,  I  am  come  to 
speak  to  you  upon  your  position ;  but  before  I  go  fur- 
ther let  me  say  a  word  or  two  to  make  you  repent,  if  pos- 
sible, for  what  you  have  done  to  others." 

"For  what  I've  done,  Mr.  Folliard,  why   the  devil 


WILLY    REILLY.  381 

should  I  not  repent,  when  I  find  I  am  to  be  hanged  for 

itr^ 

''  0  hanged  you  will  be,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that ;  but 
now,  consider  a  little ;  here  you  are,  with  a  brown  loaf, 
and — is  that  water  in  the  jug?  " 

"It  is;' 

*'  Yery  well ;  here  you  are,  hard  and  fast — you  who 
were  accustomed  to  luxuries,  to  the  richest  means,  and 
the  richest  wines— here  you  are  with  a  brown  loaf,  a 
jug  of  water,  and  the  gallows  before  you  !  However, 
if  you  wish  to  repent,  truly  and  sincerely,  reflect  upon 
the  numbers  that  you  and  your  blood-hounds  liave  con- 
signed to  places  like  this,  and  sent  from  tliis  to  the  gib- 
bet, while  you  were  rioting  in  luxury  and  triumph. 
Good  God,  sir,  hold  up  your  head,  and  be  a  man. 
Damn  it,  what  if  you  are  hanged  !  Many  a  better  man 
was ;  hold  up  your  head,  I  say." 

"I  can't,  my  dear  Folliard ;  it  won't  stay  up  forme." 

''  Egad  !  and  you'll  soon  get  a  receipt  for  holding  it 
up.     Why  the  devil  can't  you  have  spunk." 

"Spunk;  how  the  devil  could  you  expect  spunk 
from  any  man  in  my  condition.  It  is  difficult  to  under- 
stand you,  Mr.  Folliard  ;  you  told  me  a  minute  ago  to 
repent,  and  now  you  tell  me  to  have  spunk  ;  pray  what 
do  you  mean  by  that !  " 

"  Why,  confound  it,  I  mean  that  you  should  repent 
with  spunk.  However,  let  us  come  to  more  important 
matters  ;  wJiat  can  be  done  for  you  !  " 

"  I  know  not;  I  am  incapable  of  thinking  on  any- 
thing but  that  damned  gallows  without ;  yet  I  should 
wish  to  make  my  will." 

"  Your  will !  Why,  I  think  you  have  lost  your  sen- 
ses; don't  you  know  that  when  3^ou're  hanged  every 
shilling  and  acre  you  are  possessed  of  will  be  forfeited 
to  the  crown  ?  " 

"  True,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  had  forgotten  that. 
Could  Hastings  be  induced  to  decline  prosecuting  I  " 


382  WILLY    KEILLY. 

*^  What !  to  compromise  a  felony,  and  be  transported 
himself.     Thank  you  foi'  nothing,  baronet ;  that's  rather 
a  blue  look   up.     No,  our  only  plan   is  to  try  and  in- 
fluence the  Grand  Jury  to  throw  out  the    bills  ;  but, 
then,  again,    there  are   indictments  against  you  to   no 
end.     Hastings'  case  is  only  a  single  one,  and,  even  if 
he  failed,  it   would  not   better  your  condition  a  whit. 
Under  the  late  Administration  we   could   have  saved 
you  by  getting  a   packed  jury  ;  but  that's    out  of  the 
question  now.     All  we  can   do,  I  think,  is  to  get  up  a 
memorial,  strongly  signed,  supplicating  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant to    commute    your  sentence   from    hanging   to 
transportation  for  life.     I  must  confess,  however,  there's 
little  hope  even   there.     They  will   come  down    with 
their  damned  reasoning,    and  tell  us  that  the  rank  and 
education  of  the    offender  only  aggravate  the  offence  ; 
and  that,  if  they  allow  a  man  so  convicted  to  escape,  in 
consequence  of  his  high  position  in  life,  every  humble 
man  found  guilty  and  executed  for  the  same  crime — 
is  murdered.     They  will  tell  us  it  would  be  a  prostitu- 
tion of  the  prerogative  of  the  Crown  to  connive  at  crime 
in  the  rich,  and  punish  it  in  the  poor.    And  again,  there^s 
the  devil  of  it ;  your  beggarly  want  of  hospitality  in 
the  first  place,    and   the    cursed    swaggering   severity 
with  which  joii  carried    out  your  loyalty,  by   making 
unexpected   domiciliary  visits   to  the  houses  of  loyal 
but  humane  Protestant  families,  with  the  expectation  of 
finding  a  priest  or  a  papist  under  their  protection  :  both 
these,  I  say,  have  made  you  the  most  unpopular  man  in 
the  country ;  and  upon  my  soul,  Sir  Robert,  I  don't  think 
there  will  be  a  man  uponthe  Grand  Jury  whose  famil}^ 
you  have  not'insulted  by  your  inveterate  loyalty.     No 
one,  I  tell  you,  likes  a  persecutor.     Still,  I  say,  I'll  try 
what  I  can  do  with  the  Grand  Jury.     I'll  see  my  friends 
and  yours — if  you  have  any  make  out  a  list  of  them  in 
a  day  or  two — and  you  may   rest  assured  that  I  will 
leave  nothing  undone  to  extricate  you." 


WILLY    KEILLY.  383 

^^  Thank  you,  Mr.  Folliard ;  but  do  you  know  why  I 
am  here  ? " 

^'To  be  sure  I  do!" 

^'  No,  you  don't,  sir.  William  Reilly,  the  Jesuit  and 
the  Papist,  is  the  cause  of  it,  and  will  be  the  cause  ot 
my  utter  ruin  and  ignominious  death." 

''  How  is  that '?  Make  that  plain  to  me,  only  make 
that  plain  to  me." 

"  He  is  the  bosom  friend  of  Hastings,  and  can  sway 
him,  and  move  him,  and  manage  him,  as  a  father  would 
his  child,  or  rather  as  a  child  would  a,  doting  father. 
Reilly,  sir,  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,  his  great  object  al- 
ways having  been  to  prevent  a  marriage  between  me 
and  3'our  beautiful  daughter ;  I,  who,  after  all,  have 
done  so  much  for  Protestantism,  am  the  victim  of  that 
Jesuit  and  Papist." 

This  vindictive  suggestion  took  at  once,  and  the  im- 
petuous old  squire  started  as  if  a  new  light  had  been 
let  in  upon  his  mind.  AVe  call  him  impetuous,  because 
if  he  had  reflected  only  for  a  moment  upon  the  diabol- 
ical persecution,  both  in  person  and  property^  which 
Reilly  had  sustained  at  the  baronet's  hands,  ho  ought 
not  to  have  blamed  him  had  he  shot  the  scoundrel  as  if 
he  had  been  one  of  the  most  rabid  dogs  that  ever  ran 
frothing  across  the  country.  We  say  the  suggestion, 
poisoned  as  it  was  by  the  most  specious  falsehood, 
failed  not  to  accomplish  the  villain's  object. 

Folliard  grasped  him  by  the  hand.  *^  Never  mind," 
said  he ;  "  keep  yourself  quiet,  and  leave  Reilly  to  me ; 
I  have  him,  that's  enough." 

^' No,'' replied  the  baronet,  ''it  is  not  enough,  be- 
cause I  know  what  will  happen;  Miss  Folliard's  in- 
fluence over  you  is  a  proverb  ;  now  she  will  cajole,  and 
flatter,  and  beguile  you,  until  she  prevails  upon  you 
to  let  the  treacherous  Jesuit  slip  tlu'ough  your  fingers,  and 
then  he  will  get  off  to  the  Continent  and  laugh  at  you 
all,  after  having  taken  her  with  him  ;  for  there  is  noth^ 


384  WILLY    REILLY. 

ing-more  certain,  if  he  escapes  death  through  your  in- 
dulgence, than  that  you  will,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years,  find  yourself  grandfather  to  a  brood  of  young 
Papists;  and  when  I  say  Papists,  need  I  add  rebels?" 

"  Come,"  replied  the  hot-headed  old  man,  ^'  don't  in- 
^  suit  me;  I  am  master  of  my  own  house,  and,  well  as  I 
love  my  daughter,  I  would  not  for  a  moment  suffer  her 
to  interfere  with  a  public  matter  of  this  or  any  other  kind. 
Now,  good-by  ;  keep  your  spirit  up,  and,  if  you  are  to 
die,  why,  die  like  a  man." 

They  then  separated ;  and,  as  Folliard  was  passing 
through  the  hatch,  he  called  the  jailer  into  his  own  office, 
and  strove  to  prevail  upon  him,  not  ineffectually,  to 
smuororle  in  some  wine  and  other  comforts  to  the  bar- 
onet.  The  man  told  him  that  he  would  with  pleasure 
do  so  if  he  durst ;  but  that  the  caution  against  it  which 
he  had  got  that  very  day  from  the  Board  rendered  the 
thing  impossible.  Ere  the  squire  left  him,  however, 
his  scruples  were  overcome,  and  the  baronet,  before  he 
went  to  bed  that  night,  had  a  roast  duck  for  supper, 
with  two  bottles  of  excellent  wine  to  wash  it  down,  and 
lull  his  conscience  into  slumber. 

^'  Confound  it,"  the  squire  soliloquized  on  their  way 
^home,  ''I  am  as  stupid  as  Whitecraft  himself,  who  was 
never  stupid  until  now  ;  there  have  I  been  with  him  in 
that  cursed  dungeon,  and  neither  of  us  ever  thought 
of  taking  measures  for  his  defence.  Why,  he  must  have 
the  best  lawyers  at  the  bar,  and  fee  them  like  princes. 
Gad !  I  have  a  great  notion  to  ride  back  and  speak  to 
him  on  the  subject ;  he's  in  such  a  confounded  trepida- 
tion about  his  life  that  he  can  think-  of  nothing  else. 
No  matter,  I  shall  write  to  him  by  a  special  messenger 
early  in  the  morning.  It  would  be  a  cursed  slap  in  the 
face  to  have  one  of  our  leading  men  hanged — only, 
after  all,  for  carr3'ing  out  the  wishes  of  an  anti-Papist 
Government,  Avho  connived  at  his  conduct  and  en- 
couraged him  in  it.     I  know  lie  expected  a  title,   and 


WILLY     REILLY.  385 

I  have  no  doubt,  but  he'd  have  got  one  had  they  re- 
mained in :  but  now  all  the  unfortunate  devil  is  likely 
to  get  is  a,rope — and  be  hanged  to  them  !  However, 
as  to  my  own  case  about  Reilly — I  must  secure  a 
strong  bar  against  him  ;  and,  if  we  can  only  prevail 
upon  Helen  to  state  the  facts  as  they  occurred,  there  is 
little  doubt  that  he  shall  suffer ;  for  hang  he  must,  in 
consequence  of  the  disgrace  he  has  brought  upon 
my  daughters  name  and  mine.  Whatever  I  might 
have    forgiven,!  will  never  forgive  him  that." 

He  then  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  did  not  slacken 
his  speed  until  he  reached  home.  Dinner  was  ready, 
'and  he  sat  down  with  none  but  Helen,  who  could 
scarcely  touch  a  morsel.  Her  father  saw  at  once  the 
state  of  her  mind,  and  felt  that  it  would  be  injudicious 
to  introduce  any  subject  that  might  be  calculated  to 
excite  her.  They  accordingly  talked  upon  common- 
place topics,  and  each  assumed  as  much  cheerfulness 
and  more  than  they  could  command.  It  was  a  miser- 
able sight,  when  properly  understood,  to  see  the  father 
and  daughter  forced,  by  the  painful  peculiarity  of  their 
circumstances,  to  conceal  their  natural  sentiments  from 
each  other.  Love,  liowever,  is  often  a  disturber  of  fam- 
ilies, as  in  the  case  of  Reilly  and  Cohen  Baivn ;  and  so 
is  an  avaricious  ambition  when  united  to  a  selfish  and 
a  sensual  attachment,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitecraft. 

It  is  unnecessary  now,  and  it  would  be  only  tedious 
to  dwell  upon  the  energetic  preparations,  that  were 
made  for  the  three  approaching  trials.  Public  rumor 
had  taken  them  up  and  sent  them  abroad  throughout 
the  greater  portion  of  the  kingdom.  The  three  culprits 
were  notorious — Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  the  priest-hun- 
ter and  persecutor ;  the  notorious  Red  Rapparee,  whose 
exploits  had  been  commemorated  in  a  thousand  bal- 
lads ;  and  "  AYilly  Reilly,"  w^hose  love  for  tlie  far  famed 
Coleen  Bawn,  togetlier  witli  her  unconquerable  passion 
for  him,  had  been    known  throughout  the  empire.     In 


386  WILLY  REILLY- 

fact  the  interest  which  tlie  pubUc  felt  in  tiie  result  of 
the  approaching  trials  was  mtense,  not  only  in  Ireland, 
but  throughout  England  and  Scotland,  where  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  them  were  borne  on  the  wings 
of  the  press.  Love,  however,  especially  the  romance 
of  it — and  here  was  not  only  romance  but  reality  enougli 
— love,  we  say,  overcomes  all  collateral  interests — Fuid 
the  history  of  the  loves  of  Willy  Reilly  and  his  dear 
Coleen  Bawn,  even  then  touched  the  hearts  of  thousands, 
and  moistened  many  a  young  eye  for  his  calamities  and 
earl}^  fate,  and  the  sorrows  of  his  Coleen  Bawn. 

Helen's  father,  inspired  by  the  devilish  suggestion  of 
Whitecraft,  now  kept  aloof  from  her  as  much  as  he 
could  with  decency  do.  He  knew  his  own  weakness, 
and  felt  tliat  if  he  suffered  her  to  gain  that  portion 
of  his  s(»ciety  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed,  his 
resolution  might  break  down,  and  the  very  result  prog- 
nosticated by  Whitecraft  might  be  brought  about.  In- 
deed his  time  Avas  so  little  his  own,  between  his  activity 
in  defence  of  that  villain  and  his  energetic  operations 
for  the  prosecutfon  of  Reilly,  that  he  had  not  much  to 
spare  her,  except  at  meals.  -  It  was  not,  liowever, 
through  liimself  that  he  wished  to  win  her  over  to  pro- 
secute Reilly.  No,  he  felt  his  difficulty,  and  knew  that 
he  could  not  attempt  to  influence  her  with  a  good  grace, 
or  any  force  of  argument.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to 
set  his  attorney  to  work,  who,  as  he  understood  all  tlie 
quirks  and  intricacy  of  the  law,  might  l)e  able  io  puzzle 
her  into  compliance.  This  gentleman,  however,  who 
possessed,  at  once,  a  rapacious  heart  and  a  stupid  head, 
might  have  fleeced  half  the  country,  had  the  ^one  been 
upon  a  par  with  the  other.  He  was,  besides,  in  his  own 
estimation,  a  lady  killer,  and  God  only,  he  thought, 
knew  how  these  interviews  with  the  fair  Coleen  Bawn 
might  end.  He,  at  all  events,  was  a  sound  Protestant, 
and  if  it  were  often  said  that  you  might  a^  well  ask  a 
Highlander  for  a  knee-buckle  as  an  attorney  for  religion, 


WILLY    KKILLY.  387 

he  could  conscientiously  fall  back  upon  the  fact  that 
political  Protestantism  and  religion  were  very  different 
things — for  an  attorney. 

Instructed  by  FoUiard,  he  accordingly  waited  upon 
her  professionally,  in  her  father's  study,  during  his  ab 
sence,  and  opened  his  case  as  follows  : — 

"  I  have  called  upon  you,  Miss  Folliard,  by  the  di- 
rection of  your  father,  professionally^  and  indeed  I 
thank  my  stars  that  my  professional  business  should 
give  me  an  opportunity  of  admiring  so  far-famed  a 
beauty." 

^' Are  you  not  Mr.  Doldrum,"  she  asked,  ^'  the  cele- 
brated attorney  f 

^'  Doldrum  is  certainly  my  name,  my  lorely  client." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Doldrum,  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you  ; 
but  permit  me  to  say  that  before  you  make  love,  as  you 
seem  about  to  do,  I  think  it  better  you  should  men- 
,tion  your  professional  business." 

''It  is  very  simple.  Miss  Folliard;  just  to  know 
whether  you  have  any  objection  to  appear  as  an  evi- 
dence against — he — hem — against  Mr.  Reilly." 

-'  0  then,  your  business  and  time  with  me  will  be 
very  brief,  Mr.  Doldrum.  It  is  my  intention  to  see  jus- 
tice done,  and  for  that  purpose  I  shall  attend  the  trial, 
and  if  I  find  that  my  evidence  will  be  necessary  I  as- 
sure you  I  shall  give  it.  But,  Mr.  Doldrum,  one  word 
with  you  before  you  go." 

"  A  hundred —  a  thousand,  my  dear  lady." 

"  It  is  this  :  I  beg  as  a  personal  favor,  that  you  will 
use  your  great  influence  with  my  father,  to  prevent 
him  from  talking  to  me  on  this  subject  until  the  day 
of  trial  comes.  By  being  kind  enough  to  do  this  you 
will  save  me  from  much  anxiety  and  annoyance." 

"  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  madam,  that  your  wishes 
shall  be  compUed  with  to  the  letter,  as  far,  at  least,  as 
any  influence  of  mine  can  accomplish  them," 

^'  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  a  good-morning." 


388  WILLY    REILLY. 

''Good-morning,  madam;  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if 
you  are  harassed  upon  this  most  painful  subject  ;  and 
I  pledge  you  my  reputation,  that  I  never  contributed 
to  hang  a  man  in  my  life  with  more  regret  than  I  ex- 
perience in  this  unfortunate  case." 

It  is  quite  a  common  thing  to  find  vanity  and  stu- 
pidity united  in  the  same  individual,  as  they  were  in 
Mr.  Doldrum.  He  was  Mr.  FoUiard's  countr}^  attorney, 
and,  in  consequence  of  his  strong  Protestant  politics, 
was  engaged  as  the  law  agent  of  his  property  ;  and  for 
the  same  reason,  that  is — because  he  was  a  violent,  he 
was  considered  a  very  able,  man. 

There  is  a  class  of  men  in  the  world  who,  wlvan  they, 
once  engage  in  a  pursuit  or  act  of  any  importance,  will 
persist  in  working  it  out,  rather  than  be  supposed  by 
relinquishing  it,  when  they  discover  themselves  wrong, 
to  cast  an  imputation  on  their  own  judgment.  To 
such  a  class  belonged  Mr.  Folliard,  who  never,  in 
point  of  fact,  acted  upon  any  fixed  or  distinct  princi- 
ple whatsoever ;  yet,  if  he  once  took  a  matter  into  his 
head,  under  the  influence  of  caprice  or  impulse,  no  man 
could  evince  more  obstinacy  or  perseverance,  apart 
from  all  its  justice  or  moral  associations,  so  long,  at 
least,  as  that  caprice  or  impulse  lasted.  The  reader 
may  have  perceived  from  his  dialogue  with  Helen,  on 
the  morning  appointed  for  her  marriage  with  White- 
craft,  that  the  worth}"  baronet,  had  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance, stood  a  strong  chance  of  being  sent  about 
his  business,  as  rank  a  bachelor  as  he  had  come.  And 
yet,  because  he  was  cunning  enough  to  make  the  liot- 
brained  and  credulous  old  man  believe  that  Reilly  was 
at  the  bottom  of  the  plan  for  his  destruction,  and  Has- 
tings only  the  passive  agent  in  liLi  liands ;  we  say,  be- 
cause he  succeeded  in  making  this  impression  which  he 
knew  to  be  deliberately  false,  upon  his  plastic  nature, 
he,  Folliard,  worked  himself  up  into  a  vindictive  bitter- 
ness peculiar  to  little  minds,  as  well  as  a  fixed  deter- 


WILLY    REILLY.  ;j8'J 

mination  that  Reilly  should  die  ;  not  by  any  means  so 
much  because  he  took  away  his  daughter,  as  that  his 
death  might  be  marked  in  this  conflict  of  parties  as  a 
set-off  against  that  of  Whitecraft. 

In  the  meantime,  he  and  Helen  entertained,  each,  a 
different  apprehension  ;  he  dreaded  that  she  might  ex- 
ercise her  influence  over  him  for  the  purpose  of  soften- 
ing him  agahist  Reilly,  whom,  if  he  had  suffered  him- 
self to  analyze  his  own  heart,  he  would  have  found 
there  in  the  shape  of  something  very  like  a  favorite. 
Helen,  on  the  contrary,  knew  that  she  was  expected  to 
attend  the  trial,  in  order  to  give  evidence  against  her 
lover ;  and  she  lived  for  a  few  days  after  his  committal 
under  the  constant  dread  that  her  father  would  perse- 
cute her  with  endless  arguments  to  induce  her  atten- 
dance at  the  Assizes.  His  conduct,  however,  on  this 
occasion,  saved  them  both  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  and 
annoyance,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  they  met  as 
seldom  as  possible.  In  addition  to  this,  we  may  state, 
that  Doldrum  communicated  the  successful  result  of  his 
interview  Avith  Miss  Folliard — her  willingness  to  attend 
the  trial  and  see  justice  done,  upon  condition  that  she 
should  not  have  the  subject  obtruded  on  her,  either  by 
her  father  or  any  one  else,  until  the  appointed  day 
should  arrive,  when  she  would  punctually  attend.  In 
this  state  were  the  relative  positions  and  feelings  of 
father  and  daughter  about  a  month  before  the  opening 
of  the  Assizes. 

In  the  meantime,  the  squire  set  himself  to, work  for 
the  baronet.  The  ablest  lawyers  were  retained,  but 
Whitecraft  most  positively  objected  to  Folliard's  pro- 
posal of  engaging  Doldrum  as  his  attorney  ;  he  knew 
the  stupidity  and  ignorance  of  the  man,  and  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him  as  the  conductor  of  his  case. 
His  own  attorney,  Mr.  Sharply,  was  engaged ;  and,  in 
deed,  his  selection  of  a  keen  and  able  man,  such  as  he 
was,  did  credit  both  to  his  sagacitv  and  foresight. 


390  '  WILLY    REILLY. 

Considering  the  state  of  the  counti-y,  at  that  particu- 
lar period,  the  matter  began  to  assume  a  most  important 
aspect.  A  portion  of  the  Protestant  party,  by  which 
we  mean  those  who  had  sanctioned  all  Whitecraft's 
biutal  and  murderous  excesses,  called  every  en- 
<^rgy  and  exertion  into  work,  in  order  to  defeat  the 
Government,  and  protect  the  leading  man  of  their  own 
clique.  On  the  other  hand,  tliere  was  the  Government, 
firm  and  decided,  by  the  just  operation  of  the  laws,  to 
make  an  example  of  the  man  who  had  not  only  availed 
himself  of  those  laws  when  they  were  with  him,  but 
who  scrupled  not  to  set  them  aside  when  they  were 
against  him,  and  to  enforce  his  blood-thirsty  instincts 
upon  his  own  responsibility.  The  Grovernment,  how- 
ever, was  not  without  large  and  active  support  from 
those  liberal  Protestants,  who  had  been  disgusted  and 
sickened  by  the  irresponsible  outrages  of  such  perse- 
cutors as  Whitecraft  and  Smellpriest.  Upon  those  men 
the  new  Government  relied,  and  relied  with  safety. 
The  country  was  in  a  tumult,  the  bigoted  party  threat- 
ened an  insurrection ;  and  they  did  so,  not  because 
they  felt  themselves  in  a  position  to  effect  it,  but  in 
order  to  alarm  and  intimidate  the  Government.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Catholics,  who  had  given  decided 
proofs  of  their  loyalty,  by  refusing  to  join  the  Preten- 
der, now  expressed  their  determination  to  support  the 
Government,  if  an  outbreak  among  that  section  of  the 
Protestant  party,  to  which  we  have  just  alluded,  should 
take  place. 

But  perhaps  the  real  cause  of  the  conduct  of  the  Gov- 
ernment might  be  traced  to  Whitecraft's  outrage  upon 

a  French  subject,  in  the  person  of  the  Abbe .     The 

matter,  as  we  have  stated,  was  seriously  taken  up  by 
the  French  Ambassador,  in  the  name  and  by  the  most 
positive  instructions  of  his  court.  The  villain  Wliite- 
craft,  in  consequence  of  tliat  wanton  and  unjustifiable 
act,  went  far  to  involve  the  two  nations  in  a  bitter  and 


WILLY    REILLY.  391 

bloody  war.  England  was  every  day  under  the  appre- 
licnsion  of  a  French  invasion,  wliicli  of  course  she 
dreaded  ;  something  must  be  done  to  satisfy  the  French 
court.  Perhaps,  had  it  not  been  for  this,  the  general 
outrages  committed  upon  the  unfortunate  Catholics  of 
Ireland  would  never  have  become  the  subject  of  a  de- 
tailed investigation.  An  investigation,  however,  took 
place,  by  which  a  system  of  the  most  incredible  perse- 
cution was  discovered,  and  a  milder  administration  of 
the  laws  was  found  judicious,  in  order  to  conciliate  the 
Catholic  party,  and  prevent  tliem  from  embracing  the 
cause  of  the  Pretender.  At  all  events,  what  between 
the  necessity  of  satisfying  the  claims  of  the  French  Gov- 
ernment, and  in  apprehension  of  a  Catholic  defection, 
the  great  and  principal  criminal  was  selected  for  punish- 
ment. The  Irish  Government  however,  who  w^ere  al- 
ready prepared  with  their  charges,  found  themselves 
already  anticipated  by  Mr.  Hastings,  a  fact  which 
enabled  them  to  lie  on  their  oars  and  await  the  re- 
sult. 

Such  was  the  state  and  condition  of  affairs  as  the 
Assizes  were  within  ten  days  of  opening. 

One  evening,  about  this  time,  the  old  squire,  who 
never  remained  long*  in  the  same  mode  of  feelino-,  sent 
for  his  daughter  to  the  dining-room,  where  he  was  en- 
gaged at  his  Burgundy.  The  poor  girl  feared  that  he  -, 
was  about  to  introduce  the  painful  subject  which  she 
dreaded  so  much,  that  is  to  say,  the  necessity  of  giv- 
ing her  evidence  against  Reilly.  After  some  conver- 
sation, however,  she  was  relieved,  for  he  did  not  allude 
to  it ;  but  he  did  to  the  fate  of  Reilly  himself;  the  very 
subject  which  was  wringing  her  heart  with  agony. 

''  Helen,"  said  he,  '^  I  have  been  thinking  of  Reilly's 
affair,  and  it  strikes  me  that  he  may  be  saved  ;  and  be- 
come your  husband  still  ;  because  you  know  that  if 
Whitecraft  was  acquitted,  now  that  he  has  been  public- 
ly disgraced,  I'd  see  the  devil  picking  his  bones — and 


392  WILLY    REILLY. 

d — d  hard  picking  he'd  find  them— before  I'd  give  you 
to  him  as  his  wife." 

^*  Thank  you,  my  dear  papa ;  but  let  me  ask  why 
it  is  that  you  are  so  active  in  stirring  up  his  party  to 
defend  such  a  manf 

^'  Foolish  girl,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  not  the  man,  but 
the  cause  and  the  principle,  we  defend." 

'^  What,  papa,  the  cause  !  bloodshed  and  perse- 
cution. I  beheve  you  to  be  possessed  of  a  human 
heart,  papa,  but  notwithstanding  his  character  and 
his  criaies,  I  do  not  wish  the  unfortunate  man  to  be 
struck  into  the  grave  without  repentance.  " 

'^Repentance,  Helen!  How  the  devil  could  a  man 
feel  repentance  who  does  not  believe  the  Christian  re- 
ligion r 

^'  But  then,  sir,  has  he  not  the  reputation  of  being'  a 
sound  and  leading  Protestant  f 

^^  0  d — n  his  reputation  ;  it  is  not  of  him  I  wish  to 
speak  to  }"ou,  but  Reilly." 

Helen's  heart  beat  rapidly  and  thickly,  but  she  spoke 
not. 

'^  Yes,"  said  he,  '^  I  have  a  project  in  my  head  that  I 
think  may  save  Reilly." 

'^  Pray,  what  is  it,  may  I  ask,  papaf 

*^  No,  you  may  not ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  give  him 
;an  early  call,  and  will  let  you  know  how  I  succeed,  after 
my  return  to  dinner.  But  listen,  Helen  ;  it  is  the  opinion 
of  the  baronet's  friends  that  they  will  be  able  to  save 
him." 

"  I  hope  they  may,  sir  ;  I  should  not  wish  to  see 
any  fellow-creature  struck  down  in  the  midst  of  his 
offences,  and  in  the  prime  of  life." 

^'  But  on  the  contrary,  if  he  swings,  we  are  bound  to 
Bacrifice  one  of  the  Papist  party  for  him,  and  Reilly 
is  the  man.  Now  don't  look  so  pale,  Helen — don't 
look  as  if  death  was  settling  in  your  face ;  his  fate  may 
be   avoided ;    but  ask  me  nothing — the  project's  my 


WILLY   REILLY.  393 

own,  and  I  will  communicate  it  to  no  one,  until  after 
I  shall  have  ascertained  whether  I  fail  in  it  or  not." 

'^  I  trust,  sir,  it  will  be  nothing  that  will  involve 
him  in  anything  dishonorable ;  but  why  do  I  ask  !  He 
is  incapable  of  that." 

*'  Well,  well ;  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands  ;  and  now 
upon  the  strength  of  my  project,  I'll  take  another  bum- 
per of  Burgundy,  and  drink  to  its  success." 

Helen  pleaded  some  cause  for  withdrawing,  as  she 
entertained  an  apprehension  that  he  might  introduce 
the  topic  which  slie  most  dreaded,  that  of  her  duty  to 
give  evidence  against  Reilly.  When  she  was  gone  he 
began  to  ponder  over  several  subjects  connected  with 
the  principal  characters  of  this  narrative,  until  he  be- 
came drowsy,  during  which  period,  halters,  gibbets, 
gallowses,  hangmen,  and  judges,  jumbled  each  other 
alternately  through  his  fancy,  until  he  fell  fast  asleep 
in  his  easy  chair. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

THE  SQUIRE  BECOMES  THEOLOGICAL,  AND  A  PROSELYTIZER  ; 
BUT  SIGNALLY  FAILS. 

The  next  morning  he  and  Cummiskey  started  for 
Sligo,  and,  as  usual,  when  they  reached  the  jail  tlie 
turnkey  was  about  to  conduct  the  squire  to  Sir  Robert's 
room,  when  the  former  turned  and  said  : — 

''  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Reilly  ;  lead  me  to  his  cell." 

''  Reilly,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  man  in  astonishment. 

^'  Are  you  sure,  sir,  it's  not  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft 
you  want  ?" 

"Are  you  sure,  sir,  that  it's  not  a  cut  of  my  whip 
nbout  tlie    ears   you    want?     Conduct    me    to    where 


394  WILLY    RETLLY. 

Reilly  is,  you  rascal ;  do  you  pretend  to  know  the  in- 
dividual I  wish  to  see  better  than  I  do  myself  1  Push 
along,  sirrah." 

The  turnkey,  accordingly,  conducted  him  to  Reilly's 
cell,  which,  considerably  to  his  surprise,  was  a  much 
more  comfortable  one  than  had  been  assigned  to  the 
baronet.  When  they  had  reached  the  corridor  in  which 
it  was  situated,  Folliard  said,  ''  Knock  at  the  door,  and 
when  he  appears,  tell  him  that  1  wish  to  see  him." 

*'  I  will,  3^our  honor." 

''  Say  I  won't  detain  him  long." 

^*  I  will,  your  honor." 

*'  D — n  your  honor,  go  and  do  what  I  desire   you." 

*'I  will,  your  honor." 

Reilly's  astonishment  w^as  beyond  belief  on  learning 
that  his  vindictive  prosecutor  had  called  upon  him  ;  but 
on  more  mature  reflection,  and  comparing  what  had 
happened,  before  with  the  only  motive  which  he  could 
assign  for  such  a  visit,  he  felt  pretty  certain  that  the 
squire  came  to  revive,  in  his  own  person,  a  subject 
which  he  had  before  proposed  to  him  through  his 
daughter.  There  was  no  other  earthly  object  to  which 
he  could  attribute  his  visit ;  but  of  course  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  receive  him  with  every  courtesy.  At 
length  Folliard  entered,  and  before  Reilly  had  time  to 
utter  a  syllable,  commenced  : — 

'•  Reilly,"  said  he,  ''you  are  astonished  to  see  me 
here  f ' 

''  I  am,  sir,"  replied  Reilly,  "very  much." 

''  Yes,  I  thought  you  would;  and  very  few  persons, 
except  myself  would  come  upon  such  an  errand,  to  the 
man  that  has  disgraced  my  daughter,  myself,  and  my 
family  ;  you  have  stained  our  name,  sir — a  name  that 
was  never  associated-  with  anvtliino^  but  honor  and 
purity,  until  you  came  among  iis." 

"  If  you  have  paid  me  tliis  visit,  sir,  only  for  the 
purpose  of  uttering  language  which  }'oii  know  must 


WILLY    REILLY.  395 

be  very  painful  to  me,  I  would  rather  you  had  declin- 
ed calling  upon  me  at  all.  I  perceive  no  object  you 
can  have  in  it,  unless  to  gratify  a  feeling  of  enmity  on 
your  part,  and  excite  one  of  sorrow  on  mine.  I  say 
sorrow,  because,  on  considering  our  relative  positions, 
and  knowing  the  impetuosity  of  your  temper,  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  here  ;  it  is  scarcely  generous  in  you 
to  come  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  a  poor,  and 
what,  after  all,  may  be  an  equivocal  triumph  over  a 
man,  whose  love  for  your  daughter,  you  must  know, 
will  seal  his  lips  against  the  expression  of  one  offensive 
word  towards  you." 

'^  But  how  the  devil,  sir,  do  youknow'what  brought 
me  here  ?  I  didn't  come  to  scod  you,  nor  to  triumph 
over  you  ;  and  I  have  already  said  the  worst  I  shall 
say.  I  know  very  well  that  you  and  White  craft  will 
be  hanged,  probably  from  the  same  rope,  too ;  but  in 
the  meantime  I  would  save  you  both  if  I  could.  I 
fear,  indeed,  that  to  save  him  is  out  of  the  question,  be- 
cause it  appears  that  there's  a  cart-load  of  indictments 
against  him." 

^'How  could  you  doubt  it,  sir,  when  you  know  the 
incredible  amount  of  his  villany,  both  private  and  pub- 
lic ?  and  yet  this  is  the  man  to  whom  you  would  have 
married  your  daughter !" 

'^  No  ;  when  I  found  Helen  reduced  to  such  a  state 
the  morning  on  which  they  were  to  be  married,  I  told 
her  at  once  that  as  she  felt  so  bitterly  against  him,  I 
AYould  never  suffer  him  to  become  her  husband.  Neither 
will  I ;  if  he  were  acquitted  to-morrow,  I  would  tell 
him  so  ;  but  you,  Reilly,  love  my  daughter  for  her  own 
sake." 

''  For  her  own  sake,  sir,  as  you  have  said,  I  love  her. 
If  she  had  milHons,  it  could  not  increase  my  affection, 
and  if  she  had  not  a  penny,  it  would  not  diminish  it." 

•'Well,  but  you  can  have  her  if  you  wish,  notwith- 
standing." 


396  WILLY    REILLY. 

Reilly  first  looked  at  him  with  amazement ;  but  he 
was  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with  his  character, 
both  from  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  of  it,  that  his 
amazement  passed  away,  and  he  simply  replied  : — 

^'Pray,  how,  sir?" 

"  Wliy,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Reilly  ;  except  with  re- 
spect to  political  principles,  I  don't  think,  after  all,  that 
there's  the  difference  of  a  d — n  between  the  Papist  and 
Protestant  Churches,  as  mere  religions.  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  there's  neither  of  tliem  any  great 
shakes,  as  to  any  effect  they  have  on  society,  unless  to 
disturb  it.  I  have  known  as  good  Papists  as  ever  I 
did  Protestants,  and  indeed  I  don't  know  why  a  Papist 
should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as  a  Protestant ;  nor  why 
a  Protestant  should  not  be  as  good  a  man  as  a  Papist,  on 
the  other  hand.     Now  do  you  see  what  I'm  driving  at  f^ 

''  Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  that  I  do,"  replied  Reilly. 

^'  Then  the  upshot  of  the  argument  is  this,  that  there 
is  not  a  toss-up  between  them,  and  any  man  getting  in- 
to a  scrape  and  who  could  get  out  of  it  by  changing 
one  to  the  other — of  course  I  mean  from  Popery  to 
Protestantism — would  prove  himself  a  mau  of  good 
sound  sense,  and  above  the  prejudices  of  the  world." 

The  truth  is,  Reilly  saw,  ere  tliis,  what  Folliard 
was  approaching,  and  as  he  determined  to  allow  him 
full  scope,  his  reply  was  brief: — 

''  You  seem  fond  of  indulging  in  speculations,  sir," 
replied  Reilly  with  a  smile;  "but  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  v^hj  you  introduce  this  subject  to  me  P 

^'  To  you  f  replied  Folliard;  "  why,  who  the  devil 
else  should  or  could  I  introduce  it  to  with  such  pro- 
priety !  Here,  now,  are  two  religions  ;  one's  not  six- 
pence better  nor  worse  than  the  other.  Now,  you  be- 
long to  one  of  them,  and  because  you  do  you're  here 
snug  and  fast.  I  say,  then,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
to  you:  you  are  yourself  in  a  difficulty — you  have  placed 
mjd  in  a  difficulty — and  you  have  j^laced  poor  Helen 


WILLY    KEILLY.  397 

in  a  difficulty — wliicli,  If  anything  happens  you,  I  think 
will  break  her  heart,  })Oor  child.  Now  you  can  take 
her,  yourself,  and  me,  out  of  all  our  difficulties,  if  you 
have  only  sense  enough  to  shove  over  from  the   old  P 

to  the  young  P .     As  a  Protestant  you  can 

marry  Helen,  Reilly — but  as  Papist  never ;  and  you 
know  the  rest ;  for,  if  you  are  obstinate,  and  blind  to 
your  own  interest,  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  sir,  whether  Miss  Folliard 
is  aware  of  this  mission  of  yours  to  me  f 

"  She  aware  !  She  never  dreamt  of  it ;  But  I  have 
promised  to  tell  her  the  result,  after  dinner  to-day." 

'^  Well,  sir,  "  replied  Reilly,  *'  will  you  allow  me  to 
state  to  you  a  few  facts  f 

''  Certainly  ;  go  on.  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  such  is  your  daughter's  high 
and  exquisite  sense  of  integrity  and  honor,  that  if  I  con- 
sented to  the  terms  you  propose,  she  would  reject  me 
with  indignation  and  scorn,  as  she  ought  to  do. 
There,  then,  is  your  project  for  accomplishing  my  self- 
ish and  dishonest  apostacy  given  to  the  winds.  Your 
daughter,  sir,  is  too  pure  in  all  her  moral  feelings,  and 
too  noble-minded,  to  take  to  her  arms  a  renegade  hus- 
band ;  a  renegade,  too,  not  from  conviction,  but  from 
S3^fish  and  mercenary  purposes.  " 

''Confound  the  thing,  this  is  but  splitting  hairs, 
Reilly,  and  talking  big  for  effect.  Speak,  however,  for 
yourself;  as  for  Helen,  I  know  very  well  that  in  spite 
of  your  heroics  and  hers,  she'd  be  devilish  glad  you'd 
become  a  Protestant,  and  marry  her. " 

''  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  you  don't  know  }'our 
own  daughter;  but  as  forme,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  one  word 
of  yours,  or  of  hers,  could  place  me  on  the  British  throne, 
I  would  not  abandon  my  religion.  Under  no  circum- 
stances would  I  abandon  it  ;  but  least  of  all,  now  that 
it  is  so  barbarously  }>ersecuted  by  its  enemies.  This^ 
sir,  is  my  final  determination.  " 


398  WILLY    REILLY. 

'^  But  do  you  know  the  alternative  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  nor  do  you.  " 

'^  Don't  I,  faith?  Why,  the  alternative  is  simply  this, 
either  marriage  or  hanging.  " 

"  Be  it  so ;  in  tliat  case  I  will  die  like  a  man  of  honoi-, 
and  a  true  Christian  and  Catholic,  as  I  hope  I  am. " 

"  As  a  true  fool,  Reilly — as  a  true  fool.  I  took  tliis 
step  privately,  out  of  respect  for  your  character.  See 
how  many  of  your  creed  became  Protestants  for  the 
sake  of  mere  property  ;  think  how  many  of  them  join 
our  Church  for  the  purpose  of  ousting  their  own  fathers 
and  relatives  from  their  estates  ;  and  what  is  it  all,  on 
their  parts,  but  the  consequence  of  an  enlightened 
judgment  that  shows  them  the  errors  of  their  old 
creed  and  the  truth  of  ours  ?  I  think,  Reilly,  you  are 
loose   about  the  brains." 

*'  That  may  be,  sir  ;  but  ^^ou  will  never  find  me  loosb 
about  my  principles." 

"Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  Helen  is  to  appear  against 
you  as  an  evidence  f 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not,  neither  do  I  believe  it.  But  now, 
sir,  I  beg  you  to  terminate  this  useless  and  impleasant 
interview.  I  can  look  into  my  own  conscience  with 
satisfaction,  and  am  prepared  for  the  worst.  If  the 
scaffold  is  to  be  my  fate,  I  cannot  but  remember  that 
many  a  noble  spirit  has  closed  the  cares  of  an  unhapp)' 
life  upon  it.     I  wish  you  good- day,  Mr.  Folliard." 

"  By  h s,  you  are  tlie  most  obstinate  blockhead 

that  ever  lived  ;  but  I've  done  ;  I  did  all  in  my  pow(^r 
to  save  you — yet  to  no  purpose.  Upon  my  soul,  I'll 
come  to  your  execution." 

"  And  if  you  do,  you  will  see  me  die  like  a  man  and 
a  gentleman  ;   may  I  humbly  add,  like  a  Christian." 

The  squire,  on  his  way  home,  kept  up  a  long,  low 
whistle,  broken  onlv  by  occasional  soliloquies,  in  which 
Reilly's  want  of  common-sense,  and  neglect,  not  only  of 
his  temporal  interests  but  of  his  life  itself,  were  the  pre- 


Wir.LY    REILLY.  399 

yVailing  se'iitiments.  ITe  regretted  his  want  of  success, 
Inch  he  imputed  altogether  to  Reilly's  obstinacy,  i*n- 
sWad  of  to  his  integrity,  firmness,  and  honor. 

This  train  of  re! lection  threw  him  into  one  of  those 
capricious  fits  of  resentment  so  peculiar  to  his  unsteady 
temper,  and  as  he  went  along  he  kept  lashing  himself 
up  into  a  red  heat  of  indignation  and  vengeance  against 
that  unfortunate  gentleman.  After  dinner  that  day, 
he  felt  somewhat  puzzled  as  to  wJiether  he  ought  to 
communicate  to  his  daughter  the  result  of  his  interview 
with  Reilly,  or  not.  Upon  consideration,  however,  he 
deemed  it  more  prudent  to  avoid  the  subject  altogether, 
for  he  felt  apprehensive,  that,  however  she  might  ap- 
prove of  her  lover's  conduct,  the  knowledge  of  his  fate, 
which  depended  on  it,  would  only  plunge  her  into 
deeper  distress.  The  evening,  consequently,  passed 
without  any  allusion  to  the  subject,  unless  a  peculiar 
tendency  to  melody,  on  his  part,  might  be  taken  to 
mean  something ;  to  this  we  might  add  short  abrupt 
ejaculations,  unconsciously  uttered — such  as — "  Whew, 
whew,  whew-o-whew-o — d — n  the  fellow  ! — whew, 
whew-o-whew — he's  a  cursed  goose  ;  but  a  d — d  ob- 
stinate— whew,  whew-o-whew-o.  Ay,  but  no  matter — : 
well-whew,  whew-o-whew,  whew !  Helen,  a  cup  of 
tea.  Now,  Helen,  do  you  know  a  discovery  I  have 
made — but  how  could  you  ?  No,  you  don't,  of  course — 
but  listen  and  pay  attention  to  me — because  it  deeply 
afi*ects  myself." 

The  poor  girl,  apprehensive  that  he  was  about  to  di- 
vulge some  painful  secret,  became  pale  and  a  good 
deal  agitated ;  she  gave  him  a  long  inquiring  look,  but 
said  nothing. 

''  Yes,  Helen,  and  the  discovery  is  this  :  I  find  from 
experience,  that  tea  and  Burgundy — or  indeed  tea  and 
any  kind  of  wine — don't  agree  with  my  constitution ; 
d — n  the  fel — whew,  wliew,  whew,  whew-o-wliew  ;  no, 
the  confounded  mixture  turns  my  stomach  into  nothing 


400  WILLY    RKILLY. 

more  nor  less  that  a  bag  of  aquafortis — if  he  had  h\ii 
common— whew " 

''  Well,  but,  papa,  why  do  you  take  tea,  then  ?" 

"  Because  I'm  an  old  fool,  Helen ;  and  if  I  am,  there 
are  some  young  ones  besides ;  but  it  can  t  be  helped 
now — whew,  whew — it  w^as  done  for  tlie  best." 

In  this  manner  he  went  on  for  a  considerable  time, 
ejaculating  mysteries  and  enigmas,  until  he  "finished  the 
second  bottle,  after  which  he  went  to  bed. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  state  here,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  incredible  force  and  tenderness  of  his  affection 
for  his  daughter,  he  had,  ever  since  her  elopement  with 
Reilly,  kept  her  under  the  strictest  surveillance,  and  in 
the  greatest  seclusion  ;  that  is  to  say,  as  the  proverb  has 
it,  ''  he  locked  the  stable  door  when  the  steed  was  stolen  ;" 
or  if  he  did  not  realize  the  aphorism,  he  came  very  near 
it. 

Time,  however,  passed,  and  the  Assizes  were  at  hand  ; 
a  fearful  Avatar  of  judicial  power  to  the  guilty.  The 
struggle  between  the  parties  who  were  interested  for 
the  fate  of  Whitecraft,  and  those  who  felt  the  extent  of 
his  unparalleled  guilt,  and  the  necessity  not  merely  of 
making  him  an  example,  but  of  punishing  him  for  his 
enormous  crimes,  was  dreadful.  The  infatuation  of 
political  rancor  on  one  side,  an  infatuation  wliicli  could 
perceive  nothing  but  the  virtue  of  high  and  resolute 
Protestantism  in  his  conduct,  blinded  his  supporters  t 
the  enormity  of  his  conduct,  and,  as  a  matter  ofcourx 
they  left  no  stone  unturned  to  save  his  life.  As  we  said, 
however,  they  were  outnumbered ;  but  still,  they  did 
not  despair.  Reilly's  friend  had  been  early  in  the  legal 
market,  and  succeeded  in  retaining  some  of  the  ablest 
men  at  the  bar,  his  leading  counsel  being  the  celebrat- 
ed advocate  Fox,  who  was  at  the  time  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  at  the  Irish  bar,  and  who  subsequent- 
ly was  promoted  to  the  bench,  where  he  administered 
justice  for  many  years.    Helen,  as  the  Assizes  approached, 


WILLY    K LILLY.  401 

>roke  down  so  completely,  tliat  it  was  felt,  if  she  re- 
i\ained  in  that  state,  that  she  would  be  unable  to  attend  ; 
and  although  Reilly's  trial  was  first  on  the  list,  his  op- 
posing- counsel  succeeded  in  getting  it  postponed  for  a 
day\fi>r  two,  in  order  that  an  important  witness,  then  ill, 
he  said,  might  be  able  to  appear  against  him. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  through  the  details  of  the 
trial  of  the  Red  Rapparee.  The  evidence  of  Mary  Mahon, 
Fergus  O'Reilly,  and  the  sheriff  was  complete ;  the 
cliain  was  unbroken  ;  the  change  of  apparel — the  dia- 
logue in  Mary  Mahon's  cabin — the  identification  of  his 
person  by  the  sheriff  in  the  farmer's  house,  as  before 
stated,  left  nothing  for  the  jury  to  do  but  to  bring  in  a 
verdict  of  guilty.  Mercy  was  out  of  the  question.  The 
hardened  ruffian — the  treacherous  rufjian — who  had  lent 
himself  to  the  bloodthirsty  schemes  of  Whitecraft — and 
all  this  came  out  upon  his  trial,  not  certainly  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  baronet — this  hardened  and  treacherous 
ruffian,  we  say,  who  had  been  a  scourge  to  that  part  of 
the  country  for  years,  now  felt,  when  the  verdict  of  guil- 
ty was  brought  in  against  him,  just  as  a  smith's  anvil 
might  feel  when  struck  by  a  feather.  On  hearing  it,  he 
growled  a  hideous  laugh,  and  exclaimed  : — 

"  To  the  d — 1  I  pitch  you  all ;  I  wish  to  God,  though, 
that  I  had  Tom  Bradley  the  prophecy  man  here,  wiio 
tould  me  that  I'd  never  be  hanged — and  that  the  rope 
was  never  born  for  me." 

'^  If  the  rope  was  not  born  for  you,"  observed  the 
judge,  ''  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged  to  inform  you  that  you 
were  boi*n  for  the  rope.  Your  life  has  been  an  outrage 
upon  civilized  society." 

*'  You  be  d — d  !"  said  the  Rapparee  ;  ""  you  can't  hang 
me  ;  haven't  I  a  pardon  I  Didn't  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  get  me  a  pardon  from  the  Government  for  turnin' 
against  the  Catholics,  and  tellin'  him  where  to  find  the 
priests  I  Why,  you  joulter-headed  ould  dog,  you  can't 
hang  me,  or  if  you  do,  I'll  leave  them  behind  me  that 


402  WILLY    REILLY. 

will  put  such  a  half-ounce  pill  into  your  guts  as  wiU 
make  you  turn  up  the  whites  of  your  eyes  like  a  duc^ 
in  thunder.  You'll  hang  me  for  robbery,  you  ould  sin- 
ner !  But  what  is  one -half  the  world  doin'  but  robbin' 
the  other  half  ?  and  what  is  the  other  half  doin'  but 
robbin'  them  1  As  for  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  if  lie  de- 
saved  me  by  lies  and  falsehood,  as  I'm  afraid  he  did,  all 
I  say  is,  that  if  I  had  hiin  here  for  one  minute,  I'd  show 
him  a  trick  he'd  never  tell  a  mortal.  Now  go,  on  big- 
wig." 

Notwithstanding  the  solemnity  of  the  position  in 
wdiich  this  obdurate  ruffian  was  placed,  the  judge  found  it 
nearly  impossible  to  silence  the  laughter  of  the  audience 
and  preserve  order  in  the  court.  At  length  he  succeeded, 
and  continued  his  brief  address  to  the  Rapparee  : — 

^'  Hardened  and  impenitent  reprobate,  in  the  course 
of  my  judicial  duties,  onerous  and  often  painful  as 
they  are  and  have  been,  I  must  say,  that  although 
it  has  fallen  to  my  lot  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence 
of  death  upon  many  an  unfeeling  felon,  I  am  bound  to 
say  that  a  public  malefactor  so  utterly  devoid  of  all  the 
feelings  which  belong  to  man,  and  so  strongly  impreg- 
nated with  those  of  the  savage  animal  as  you  are, 
has  never  stood  in  a  dock  before  me,  nor  probably  be- 
fore any  other  judge,  living  or  dead.  Would  it  bo  a 
waste  of  language  to  enforce  upon  3"ou  the  necessity 
of  repentance  ?  I  fear  it  would ;  but  it  matters  not ; 
the  guilt  of  impenitence  be  on  your  own  head  ;  still  I 
nmst  do  my  dut;f  ;  try,  then,  and  think  of  death,  and  a 
far  more  awful  judgment  than  mine.  Think  of  the  ne- 
cessity you  have  for  supplicating  mercy  at  the  tlu'one  of 
your  Redeemer,  who  himself  died  for  you  and  for  all 
of  us,  between  two  thieves." 

*'  Tiiat  lias  nothing  to  do  with  my  case  ;  I  never  was 
a  thief ;  I  robbed  like  an  honest  man  on  the  king's 
highway;  but  as  for  thievin',  why,  you  ould  sinner, 
I  never  stole  a  farthing's  worth  in  my  life.      Don't,  then, 


WILLY    EEILLY.  403 

itch  such  beggarly  comparisons  into  my  teetli.  I 
iiWer  did  wliat  you  and  your  class  often  did ;  I  never 
robbed  the  poor  in  the  name  of  the  blessed  laws  of 
the^|and;  I  never  oppressed  the  widow  or  the  orphan  ; 
and  for  all  that  I  took  from  those  that  did  ^  ])press 
tliem,  the  devil  a  grain  of  sorrow  or  repentance  I  feel 
for  it,  nor  ever  will  feel  for  it.  0  blessed  Jasus  !  if  I 
liad  a  glass  of  whiskey  !" 

The  judge  was  obliged  to  eniorce  silence  a  second 
time  ;  for,  to  tell  tlie  truth,  there  was  something  so  lu- 
dicrously impenitent  in  the  conduct  of  this  hardened 
convict,  that  the  audience  could  not  resist  it,  especially 
when  it  is  remembered  that  the  sympathies  of  the  low- 
er Irish  are  always  with  such  culprits 

''Well,"  continued  the  judge,  when  silence  was  re- 
stored, ''your  unparalleled  obduracy  has  gained  one 
point ;  it  was  my  intention  to  have  you  ordered  for  ex- 
ecution to-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  twelve  o'clock  ;  but, 
as  a  Christian  man,  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment 
of  hurrying  you  into  eternity  in  your  present  state. 
The  sentence  of  the  court  then  is,  that  you  be  taken 
from  the  dock  in  which  you  now  stand,  to  the  prison 
from  whence  you  came,  and  that  from  thence  you  be 
brought  to  the  place  of  execution,  on  next  Saturday, 
and  there  hanged  by  the  neck  until  ^^ou  be  dead ; 
and  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul  f 

The  Rapparee  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  the  most 
hardened  effrontery,  and  exclaimed — ''  Is  it  in  earnest 
you  are  f  after  which  he  was  once  more  committed  to 
his  cell,  loaded  with  heavy  chains  which  he  wore,  by 
the  way,  during  his  trial. 

Now,  in  order  to  account  for  his  outrageous  conduct, 
we  must  make  a  disclosure  to  the  reader.  There  is 
in  and  about  all  jails  a  certain  officer,  except  a  hang- 
man— an  officer  who  is  permitted  a  freer  ingress  and 
egress  than  almost  any  other  person  connected  with  those 
gloomy  establishments.     This  hangman,  who  resided 


404  WILLY    EEILLY. 

in  the  prison,  had  a  brother  whom  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft  had  hanged,  and,  it  was  thought,  innocently.  Ee 
this  as  it  may,  the  man  in  question  was  heard  to  utter 
strong  threats  of  vengeance  against  Sir  Robert,  for 
having  his  brother,  whose  innocence  he  asserted, 
brought  to  execution.  In  some  time  after  this,  a  pistol 
was  lired  one  night  at  Sir  Robert,  from  behind  a  hedge, 
which  missed  liim  ;  but  as  his  myrmidons  were  with 
him,  and  the  night  was  light,  a  pursuit  took  place,  and 
the  guihy  wretch  was  taken  prisoner,  with  the  pistol 
on  his  person,  still  warm  after  having  been  discharged. 
The  consequence  was  that  he  was  condemned  to  death. 
But  it  so  happened  that  at  this  period,  although  there 
were  five  or  six  executions  to  take  place,  3^et  there  was 
no  hangman  to  be  had,  that  officer  having  died  sudden- 
ly, after  a  fit  of  liquor,  and  the  sheriff  would  have 
been  obliged  to  discharge  the  oflSce  himself,  unless  a 
finisher  of  the  law  could  be  found.  In  brief,  he  was 
found,  and  in  the  person  of  the  individual  alluded  to, 
who,  in  consequence  of  his  consenting  to  accept  the 
office  got  a  pardon  from  the  crown.  Now,  this  man 
and  the  Rapparee  had  been  old  acquaintances,  and  re- 
newed their  friendship  in  prison.  Through  the  means 
of  the  hangman,  O'Donnel  got  in  as  much  whiskey  as 
he  pleased,  and  we  need  scarcely  say  that  they  often 
got  intoxicated  together.  The  Secret,  therefore,  which 
we  had  to  disclose  to  the  reader,  in  explanation  of  the 
Rapparee's  conduct  at  his  trial  was  simply  this,  that 
the  man  was  three-quarters  drunk. 

After  trial  he  was  placed  in  a  darker  dungeon  than  be- 
fore ;  but  such  was  the  influence  of  the  worthy  exe- 
cutioner with  every  officer  of  the  jail,  that  he  was 
permitted  to  go  either  in  or  out  without  search,  and  as  he 
often  gave  ^'  a  slug,"  as  he  called  it,  to  the  turnkeys, 
they  consequently  allowed  him,  in  this  respect,  whatever 
privileges  he  wished.  Even  the  Rapparee's  dungeon 
was  not  impenetrable  to  him,  especially  as  he  put  the 


I 


WILLY    REILLY.  405 

ii\atter  on  religious  footing-,  to  wit,  tliat  as  the  unfor- 
tunate robber  was  not  allowed  tlie  spiritual  aid  of  liis 
own  clergy,  he  himself  was  the  only  person  left  to  pre- 
pare him  for  death ;  wliichhe  did  with  the  whiskey  bottle. 

The  Assizes,  on  that  occasion,  were  protracted  to  an 
unusual  length.  The  country  was  in  a  most  excited 
state,  and  party  feeling  ran  fearfully  high.  Nothing  was 
talked  of  but  the  two  trials,  par  excellence^  to  wit,  that  of 
Whitecraft  and  Heilly;  and  scarcely  a  fair  or  market, 
for  a  considerable  time  previous,  ever  came  round,  in 
which  there  AA^as  not  a  battle  on  the  subject  of  either  one 
or  the  other  of  them,  and  not  unfrequently  of  both. 
Nobody  was  surprised  at  the  conviction  of  the  Eed 
Rapparee ;  but,  on  the  contrary^  every  one  was  glad 
that  the  country  had  at  last  got  rid  of  him. 

Poor  Helen,  however,  was  not  permitted  to  remain 
quiet,  as  she  had  expected.  When  Mr.  Doldrum  had 
furnished  the  leading  counsel  with  his  brief  and  a  list 
of  the  witnesses,  the  latter  gentleman  was  surprised  to 
see  the  name  of  Helen  Folliard  among  them. 

''  How  is  thisf  he  inquired  ;  "is  not  this  the  cele- 
brated beauty  who  eloped  with  him  ^''^ 

"'  It  is,  sir,"  replied  Doldrum. 

"But,"  proceeded  the  other,  "you  have  not  in- 
structed me  in  the  nature  of  the  evidence  she  is  pre- 
pared to  give." 

"  She  is  deeply  penitent,  sir,  and  in  a  very  feeble 
state  of  health;  so  much  so,  that  we  were  obliged  to 
leave  the  tendency  of  her  evidence  to  be  brought  out 
on  the  trial." 

'  Have  you  subpoenaed  her!" 


^'No 


sir 


"  And  why  not,  Mr  Doldrum  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  there  is  no  understanding  the  caprices  of  woman  ? 
You  ought  to  have  subpoenaed  her ;  because,  if  she  be  a 
leading  evidence,  she  may  still  change  her  mind,  and 
leave  us  in  the  lurch." 


lOG  WILLY    REILLY. 

'^  I  certainly  did  not  subpoena  her,"  replied  Dol- 
drum,  "  because  when  I  mentioned  it  to  her  father^  he 
told  me  that  if  1  attempted  it  he  would  break  my  head. 
It  was  enough,  he  said,  that  she  had  given  her  promise — 
a  thing,  he  added,  which  she  was  never  known  to  break." 

^' Go  to  her  again,  Doldrum ;  for  unless  we  know 
what  she  can  prove,  we  will  be  only  working  in  the 
dark.  Try  her,  at  all  events,  and  glean  what  you  can 
out  of  her.  Her  father  tells  me  she  is  somewhat  better ; 
so  I  don't  apprehend  you  will  have  much  difficulty  in 
seeing  her," 

Doldrum  did  see  her,  and  was  astonished  at  the  strik- 
ing change  which  had,  in  so  short  a  time,  taken  place 
in  her  appearance.  She  was  pale,  and  exhibited  all  the 
symptoms  of  an  invalid,  with  the  exception  of  her  e3'es, 
which  were  not  merely  brilliant,  but  dazzling,  and  full 
of  a  fire  that  flashed  from  them  with  something  like  tri- 
umph, whenever  her  attention  was  directed  to  the  purport 
of  her  testimony.  On  this  subject  they  saw  that  it 
would  be  quite  useless,  and  probably  worse  than  use- 
less, to  press  her. 

''  I  have  already  stated,"  said  she,  ''  that  I  shall  at- 
tend the  trial ;  that  ought  and  must  be  sufficient  for  3^ou. 
I  beg,  then,  you  will  withdraw,  sir.  My  improved  health 
will  enable  me  to  attend,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that 
if  I  have  life  I  shall  be  tliere,  as  I  have  already  told 
you." 

After  they  had  left  her,  at  her  own  request,  her  father 
informed  the  attorney  that  she  was  getting  both  strong 
and  clieerful,  in  spite  of  her  looks. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  he,  "she  is  pale;  but  that  is  only 
natural,  after  her  recent  slight  attack,  and  all  the  ex- 
citement and  agitation  she  has  for  some  time  past  un- 
dero-one.  She  sinn^s  and  plavs  now — althouo^h  I  have 
heard  neither  a  song  nor  a  time  from  her  for  along  tmie 
past.  In  the  evening,  too,  she  is  exceedingly  cheerful 
when  we  sit  together  in  the  drau'ing-room  ;  and  she  often 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  407 

laughs  more  heartily  than  I  ever  knew  her  to  d(^  before 
in  my  life.  D — n  me,  Doldrum,  if  she  was  breaking 
her  heart  about  Reilly,  she  wouldn't  be  in  such  spirits — 
would  she  f 

''No,  sir;  she  would  be  melancholy  and  silent,  and 
would  neither  sing,  nor  laugh,  nor  play ;  at  least,  I  felt 
so  when  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  Twithers,  who  kept  me 
in  a  state  of  equilibrium  for  better  than  two  years  ;  but 
that  wasn't  the  worst  of  it,  for  she  knocked  the  loyalty 
clean  out  of  me,  besides  ;  indeed,  so  decidedly  so,  that 
I  never  sang  LillibuUero  during  the  whole  period  of  my 
attachment,  and  be  d — d  to  her." 

''  And  what  became  of  her  f 

"Why,  she  married  my  clerk,  who  used  to  serve  my 
love-letters  upon  her  ;  and  when  I  expected  to  come  in 
by  execution,  that  is,  by  marriage,  that  d — d  little 
sheriff,  Cupid,  made  a  return  of  nulla  hona.  She  and 
Sam  Snivel— a  kind  of  bastard  Puritan- -entered  a  dis- 
appearance, and  I  never  saw  them  since ;  but  I  am  told 
they  are  in  America.  From  what  you  tell  me,  sir,  I 
have  no  doubt  but  Miss  Folliard  will  make  a  capital  wit- 
ness. In  f\ict,  Reilly  ought  to  feel  proud  of  the  honor 
of  being  hanged  by  her  evidence — she  will  be  a  host  in 
herself" 

We-  have  already  stated  that  the  leading  counsel 
against  Reilly  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  trial  post- 
poned, until  Miss  Folliard  should  arrive  at  a  sufficient 
state  of  health  to  appear  against  him.  In  the  mean- 
time, the  baronet's  trial,  which  was  in  a  political,  in- 
deed, we  might  say,  in  a  national  point  of  view,  of  far 
more  importance  than  Reilly's  was  to  come  on,  next 
day.  In  the  general  extent  of  popularity,  Reilly  had 
got  in  advance — though  not  much — of  his  implacable 
rival.  The  two  trials  were,  in  fact,  so  closelv  united  by 
the  relative  position  of  the  parties,  that  public  opinion 
was  strangely  and  strongly  divided  between  them. 
Reilly    and  Coleen   Bawn  had,  by   the  unhappy  pecu- 


408  WILLY    REILLY. 

liarily  of  their  fate,  excited  the  interest  of  all  the  3'outli- 
ful  and  loving  part  of  society — an  interest  which  was 
necessarily  reflected  upon  Whitecraftj  as  Reilly's  rival, 
independently  of  the  hold  which  his  forthcoming  fate 
had  upon  grave  and  serious  politicians.  Reilly's  lead- 
ing counsel,  Fox,  a  man  of  great  judgment  and  ability, 
gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  in  consequence  of  the  ex- 
acerbated state  of  feeling  produced  against  the  Cath- 
olics by  the  prosecution  of  Whitecraft — to  appease 
whom,  the  opinion  went  that  it  was  instituted — it 
seemed  unlikely  that  Reilly  had  a  single  chance. 
Had  his  trial,  he  said,  taken  place  previous  to  that 
of  Whitecraft,  he  might  have  escaped  many  of  the 
consequences  of  Whitecraft's  convicton,  but  now, 
should  the  latter  he  convicted;  the  opposing  party  would 
die  in  the  jury  box  rather  than  let  Reilly  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PREPARATIONS — JURY  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME THE 

SCALES  OF  JUSTICE. 

At  last  the  trial  came  on  :  and  Sir  Robert  White- 
craft, the  great  champion  of  Protestantism,  a  creed 
which  he  did  not  believe,  was  conducted  into  the 
court-house  and  placed  in  the  dock.  He  was  dressed 
in  his  best  apparel,  in  order  to  distinguish  himself  from 
common  culprits,  and  to  give  this  poor  external  evidence 
of  his  rank,  with  a  hope  that  it  might  tell,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  at  least,  upon  the  feelings  of  the  jury. 
When  placed  in  the  dock,  a  general  buzz  and  bustle 
agitated  the  whole  court.  His  friends  became  alert, 
and  whispered  to  each  other  with  much  earnestness,  and 
a  vast  number  of  them  bowed  to  him,  and  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  whispered   to   him  to  be  cool,  and  keep 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  409 

up  his  spirits.  His  appearance,  however,  was  any- 
thing but  firm  ;  his  face  was  deathly  pale,  his  eyes  dull 
and  cowardly,  and  his  knees  trembled  so  much,  that  he 
w^as  obliged  to  support  himself  on  the  front  of  the  dock. 

At  length  the  trial  commenced,  and  the  case  having 
been  opened  by  a  young  lawyer,  a  tall,  intellectual-look- 
ing man,  about  the  middle  age,  of  pale  but  handsome 
features,  and  an  eye  of  singular  penetration  and  bril- 
liancy, rose ;  and  after  pulling  up  his  gown  at  the 
shoulders,  and  otherwise  adjusting  it,  proceeded  to  lay 
a  statement  of  this   extraordinary  case  before  the  jury. 

He  dwelt  upon  '^  the  pain  which  he  felt  in  contem- 
plating a  gentleman  of  rank  and  vast  wealth  occupy- 
ing the  degraded  position  of  a  felon  ;  but  not,  he  was 
sorry  to  say,  of  a  common  felon.  The  circumstances, 
my  lord,  and  gentleman  of  the  jury,  w^hich  have 
brought  the  prisoner  before  you  this  day,  involve  a 
long  catalogue  of  crimes  that  as  far  transcend,  in  the 
hideousness  of  their  guilt,  the  offences  of  a  common 
felon,  as  his  rank  and  positiom  in  life  did  that  of  tlie 
humblest  villain  "who  ever  stood  before  the  court  of 
justice. 

"The  position,  gentleman,  of  this  country  has  for  a 
long  series  of  years  been  peculiar,  anomalous,  and  un- 
happy. Divided  as  it  is,  and  has  been,  by  the  bitter 
conflict  between  two  opposing  creeds  and  parties,  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  it  should  be  the  melancholy 
scene  of  misery,  destitution,  famine,  and  crime ;  and, 
unhappily,  it  presents  to  us  the  frightful  aspect  of  all 
these.  The  nature,  however,  of  the  conflicts  between 
those  creeds  and  parties,  inasmuch  as  it  bears  upon  the 
case  of  the  prisoner,  gentleman,  who  now  stands  for 
trial  and  a  verdict  at  your  hands,  is  such  as  forces  me, 
on  that  account,  to  dwell  briefly  upon  it.  In  doing  so, 
T  will  have  much,  for  the  sake  of  our  common  human- 
ity, to  regret  and  to  deplore.  It  is  a  fundamental  prin- 
ciple, gentleman,  in  our   great  and    glorious  Constitu- 


410  WILLY     KEILLY. 

tion,  that  the  paramount  end  and  object  of  our  laws  Is 
to  protect  the  person,  the  Uberty,  and  the  property 
of  the  subject.  But  there  is  something,  gentleman,  still 
dearer  to  us  than  either  liberty ;  person,  or  property ; 
something  which  claims  a  protection  from  those  laws, 
that  stamps  them  with  a  nobler  and  loftier  character, 
when  it  is  afforded,  and  weaves  them  into  the  hearts 
and  feelings  of  men  of  all  creeds,  when  this  divine 
mission  of  the  law  is  fulfilled.  I  allude,  gentlemen,  to 
the  inalienable  right  of  every  man  to  worship  God 
freely,  and  according  to  his  own  conscience — without 
restraint — without  terror — without  oppression  ;  and, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  tvitliout  persecution.  A  man,  or 
a  whole  people,  worship  God,  we  will  assume,  sincere- 
ly, according  to  their  notions  of  what  is  right ;  and  I 
say,  gentlemen,  that  the  individual  who  persecutes  that 
man,  or  those  people,  for  piously  worshipping  their 
Creator,  commits  blasphemy  against  the  Almighty,  and 
stains,  as  it  were,  the  mercy-seat  with  blood. 

^'  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  let  me  ask  you  what  has 
been  the  state  and  condition  of  this  unhappy  and  dis- 
tracted country!  I  have  mentioned  two  opposing 
creeds,  and  consequently  two  opposing  parties,  and  I 
have  also  mentioned  persecution ;  but  let  me  also  ask 
you  again,  on  which  side  has  the  persecution  existed. 
Look  at  your  lloman  Catholic  fellow- subjects — and 
ask  yourselves,  to  what  terrible  outbursts  of  political 
and  religious  vengeance  have  they  not  been  subject- 
ed But,  it  is  said,  they  are  not  faithful  and  loyal  sub- 
jects, and  that  they  detest  the  laws.  Well,  let  us  con- 
sider this  ;  let  us  take  a  cursory  view  of  all  that  the  spirit 
and  operation  of  the  laws  have  left  them  to  be  thank- 
ful for — have  brought  to  bear  upon  them  for  the  pur- 
pose, we  must  suppose,  of  securing  their  attachment 
and  their  loyalty.  Let  us,  Gentlemen,  calmly,  and 
solemnl}^,  and  in  a  Christian  spirit,  take  a  brief  glance 
at  the  advantages  which  the  free  and  glorious  spirit  of 


Wn.LY    KEILLY.  411 

the  British  constitution  lias  lield  out  to  them,   in  order 
to  secure  their   allegiance.     In    the    first    place,    their 
nobles  and  their  gentry  have  been  deprived  of  their 
property,  and  the  right  of  tenure  has  been    denied  even 
to  the  people.     Ah,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
what  unofrateful   and  disloyal    miscreant  could   avoid 
loving    a    Constitution,    and  hugging  to  his  grateful 
heart  laws  which  showered  down  such  blessings   upon 
him,  and  upon  all  those  who  belonged  to    a    creed    so 
favored.     But  it  would  seem  to  have  been  felt  that  these 
laws  had  still  a  stronger  claim    upon    their    affections. 
/They  would  protect  their  religion,    as   they    did    their 
property,  and  in  order  to  attach  them  still  more  strong- 
ly, they  shut  up   their  places  of  worship — they   pros- 
cribed, and    banished,   and    hung   their    clergy;    they 
hung  or  shot  the  unfortunate  people  who  fled  to    wor- 
ship God  in  the  desert — in  mountain  fastnesses  and  in 
caves— and  threw  their  dead  bodies  to  find  a   tomb   in 
the  entrails  of  the  birds  of  the  air,   or  the   dogs  whicli 
even   persecution  had  made  mad  with  hunger.     But 
again- — for  this  pleasing  panorama  is  not   yet  closed — 
the  happy  Catholics,  who  must  have  danced  with    de- 
light under  the  privileges  of  such  a  Constitution,   were 
deprived   of  the  right  to  occupy    and  possess  all   civil 
offices — their    enterprise   was   crushed — their  industry 
made  subservient  to  the  rapacity  of  their  enemies,   and 
not  to  their  own  prosperity.     But  this  is  far  from  being 
all.     The  sources  of  knowdedo;-e — of  knowled^-e  which 
only  can  enlighten  and  civilize  the  mind,  prevent  crime 
and  pi'omote  the   progress    of  human    society — these 
sources  of  knoAAdedge,  I  say,  were  sealed  against  them  ; 
they  were  consequently  left  to   ignorance,    and   its  in- 
separable associate,  vice.     All   those   noble   principles 
which  result  from  education,  and  which  lead  youth  in- 
to those  moral  footsteps  in  which    they    should    tread, 
were  made  criminal   in  the   Catholic   to   pursue,    and 
impossible  to  attain ;  and  having  thus  been  reduced  by 


412  WILLY   REILLY, 

Ignorance  to  tlie  perpetration  of  those  crimes  which  it 
uniformly  produces — the  people  were  punished  for 
that  which  oppressive  laws  had  generated,  and  the  ig- 
norance which  was  forced  upon  them  was  turned  into 
a  penalty  and  a  persecution.  They  were  first  made 
ignorant  by  one  Act  of  Parliament,  and  then  punished 
by  another  for  those  crimes  which  ignorance  produ- 
ces. 

"And  now,  my  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it 
remains  for  me  to  take  another  view  of  the  state  and 
condition  of  this  wretched  country.  Perhaps  there  is 
not  in  the  world  so  hideously  penal  a  code  of  laws,  as 
that  which  appertains  to  the  civil  and  religious  rights 
of  our  unfortunateRoman  Catholic  countrymen.  It  is 
not  that  this  code  is  fiei'ce,  inhuman,  unchristian,  bar- 
barous, and  Draconic,  and  conceived  in  a  spirit  of 
blood — because  it  might  be  all  this,  and  yet,  through 
the  liberality  and  benevolence  of  those  into  whose 
hands  it  ought  to  be  intrusted  for  administration, 
much  of  its  dreadful  principles  might  be  mitigated. 
And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  a  large  and  important 
class  of  the  Protestant  community  look  upon  such  a 
code  nearly  with  as  much  horror  as  the  Catholics  them- 
selves. Unfortunately,  however,  in  every  state  of 
societ}"  and  of  law  analogous  to  ours,  a  certain  class  of 
men,  say  rather  of  monsters,  is  sure  to  spring  up,  as  it 
were,  from  hell,  their  throats  still  parched  and  heated 
with  that  insatiable  tliirst  Avhich  the  guilty  glutton  felt 
before  them  and  which  they  now  are  determined  to 
slake  with  blood.  For  some  of  these  men  the  apology 
of  selfishness  and  anxietv  to  raise  themselves  out  of  the 
struggles  of  genteel  poverty,  and  a  wolfish  wish  to 
earn  the  wages  ofoppression,  might  be  pleaded  ;  although 
Heaven  knows  it  is  at  best  but  a  desperate  and  coward- 
ly apology.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  men,  not 
merely  independent,  but  wealthy,  who,  imbued  with 
a  fierce  and  unreasoning    bigotry,    and    stained   by    a, 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  41.3 

black  and  unscrupulous  ambition,  start  up  into  the  first 
rank  of  persecution,  and  carry  fire,  and  death,  and 
murder  as  tliey  go  along,  and  all  this  for  the  sake  of 
adding  to  tlieir  reprobate  names  a  title — a  title  earned 
by  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood — a  title  earned  by 
the  oppression  and  persecution  of  their  unresisting 
fello\v-subjects — a  title,  perhaps  that  of  a  baronet ;  if  I 
am  mistaken  in  this,  the  individual  who  stands  before 
you  in  that  dock  could,  for  he  might,  set  me  right. 

'^  In  fact,  who  are  those  who  have  lent  themselves 
with  such  delight  to  the  execution  of  bad  laws !  of 
laws  tliat,  for  the  sake  of  religion  and  Christianity, 
never  ought  to  have  been  enacted  I  are  they  men  of 
moral  and  Christian  lives  I  men  whose  walk  has  been 
edifying  in  the  sight  of  their  fellows  ?  are  they  men 
to  whom  society  could  look  up  as  examples  of  private 
virtue  and  the  decorous  influence  of  religion  I  are  they 
men  who,  on  the  Sabbath  of  God,  repair  with  their 
wives  and  families,  to  His  holy  worship  ^.  Alas !  no. 
These  heroic  persecutors,  who  hunt  and  punish  a  set  of 
disarmed  men,  are,  in  point  of  fact,  not  only  a  disgrace 
to  that  religion  in  whose  name  they  are  persecutors, 
and  on  whose  merciful  precepts  they  trample,  but  to 
all  religion,  in  whatever  light  true  religion  is  contem- 
plated. Vicious,  ignorant,  profligate,  licentious,  but 
cunning,  cruel,  bigoted,  and  selfish,  they  make  the  spirit, 
of  oppressive  laws,  and  the  miserable  state  of  the  country 
the  harvest  of  their  gain.  Look  more  closely  at  the 
picture,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  make,  as  I  am  sure 
you  will,  tlie  dismal  and  terrible  circumstances  which 
1  will  lay  before  you,  your  own.  Imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment that  those  who  are  now,  or  at  least  have  been, 
the  objects  of  hot  and  blood-scenting  persecution  had, 
by  some  political  revolution,  got  the  power  of  the  state 
and  the  laws  into  their  own  hands ;  suppose,  for  it  is 
easily  supposed,  that  they  had  sti'ipped  you  of  your 
property,  deprived  you  of  your  civil  rights,   disarmed 


414  VriLLY   KEILLY. 

you  of  the  means  of  self-defence,  persecuted  yourselves 
and  proscribed  your  religion,  or,  vice  versa,  proscribed 
yourselves  and  persecuted  your  religion,  or,  to  come  at 
once  to  the  truth,  proscribed  and  persecuted  both  ;  sup- 
pose your  Churches  shut  up,  your  pious  clergy  banished 
and  that  when  on  the  bed  of  sickness  or  of  death  some 
of  your  family,  hearing  your  cries  for  the  consolations 
of  religion^  ventured  out,  under  the  clouds  of  the  night, 
pale  with  sorrow  and  trembling  with  apprehension  to 
steal  for  you,  at  the  risk  of  life,  that  comfort  wliich 
none  but  a  minister  of  God  can  effectually  bestow  upon 
the  parting  spirit ;  suppose  this,  and  suppose  that  your 
house  is  instantly  surrounded  by  some  cruel  but  plaus- 
ible Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  or  some  drunken  and  ruffian- 
ly Captain  Smellpriest,  who,  surrounded  and  supported 
by  armed  ruffians,  not  only  breaks  open  that  house,  but 
violates  the  awful  sanctity  of  the  death- bed  itself,  drags 
out  the  minister  of  Christ  from  his  work  of  mercy,  and 
leaves  him  a  bloody  corpse  at  your  threshold.  I  say, 
change  places,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  suppose  in 
your  own  imaginations  that  all  those  monstrous  perse- 
cutions, all  those  murderous  and  flagitious  outrages,  had 
been  inflicted  upon  yourselves,  with  others  of  an  equal- 
ly nefarious  character ;  suppose  all  this^  and  you  may 
easily  do  so,  for  you  have  seen  it  all  perjiietrated  in  the 
name  of  God  and  the  law,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  blasphe- 
mous union  of  money  and  murder;  suppose  all  this, 
and  you  will  feel  what  such  men  as  he  who  stands  in 
that  dock  deserves  from  humanity  and  natural  justice  ; 
for,  alas !  I  cannot  say,  from  the  laws  of  his  country, 
under  the  protection  of  which,  and  in  the  name  of 
which,  he  and  those  who  resemble  him  have  deluged 
that  country  with  innocent  blood,  laid  waste  the  cabin 
of  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  and  carried  death  and 
desolation  wherever  they  went.  But,  gentlemen,  I 
shall  stop  here,  as  I  do  not  wish  to  inflict  unnecessary 
pain  upon  you,  even  by  this  mitigated  view  of  atrocities 


WILLY     RKILLY.  415 

which  have  taken  place  before  your  own  eyes  ;   yet  I 
cannot  close  tliis  portion  of  my  address   without  refer- 
ring to  so  large  a  number  of  our  fellow-Protestants  with 
pride,  as  I  am  sure  tlieir  Roman   Catholic  friends  do 
with  gratitude.     Who  were  those  who,  among  the  Prot- 
estant party  threw  the  shield  of  their  name  and  influ- 
ence over  their  Catholic  neighbors  and  friends  ?     Who 
need  I  ask  ?     The  pious,  the  humane,  the  charitable, 
the  liberal,  the  benevolent,  and  the  enlightened,     Those 
were  they,  who,  overlooking  the  mere  theological  dis- 
tinctions of  particular  doctrines,  united  in  the  great  and 
universal  creed  of  charity,,  held  by  them  as  a  common 
principle  on  wdiich  they  might  meet  and  understand 
and  love  each  other.     And  indeed,   gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  there  cannot  be  a  greater  proof  of  the  oppressive 
spirit  which  animated  this  penal  and  inhuman  code  than 
the  fact,  that  so  many  of  those,  for  whose  benefit  it  was 
enacted,  resisted  its  influence  on  behalf  of  their  Catho- 
lic fellow-subjects,  as  far  as  they  could,  and  left  nothing 
undone  to  support  the  laws  of  humanity   against  those 
of  injustice  and  oppression.    When  the  persecuted  Cath- 
olic could  not  invest  his  capital  in  the  purchase  of  prop- 
erty, the  generous  Protestant  came  forward,  purchased 
the  property  in  his  own  name,  became  the  bona  fide 
proprietor,  and  then  transferred  its  use  and  advantages  to 
nis  Catholic  friend.     And  again,   under  what  roof  did 
the  hunted  Catholic  priest   first  take  refuge  from   those 
blood-hounds   of  persecution?     In  most   cases  under 
that  of  his  charitable  and  Christian  brother,  the   Prot- 
estant clergyman.     Gentlemen,  could  there  be   a  bit- 
terer libel  upon  the  penal  laws  than  the  notorious  facts 
which  I  have  the  honor  of  stating  to  you  ? 

"  The  facts  which  have  placed  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  before  you  are  these,  and  in  detailing  them  I  feel 
myself  placed  in  circumstances  of  great  difficulty,  and 
also  of  peculiar  delicacy.  The  discharge,  however, 
of  a  public  duty,  w^hich  devolves  upon    me   as  leading 


416  WILLY    REILLY. 

law  officer  of  the  Crown,  forces  me  into  a  course  which 
I  cannot  avoid,  unless  I  should  shrink  from  promoting 
and  accomplishing  the  ends  of  public  justice.  In  my 
position,  and  in  the  discharge  of  my  solemn  duties  here 
to-day,  I  can  recognize  no  man's  rank,  no  man's  wealth, 
nor  the  prestige  of  any  man's  name.  So  long  as  he 
stands  at  that  bar,  charged  with  great  and  heinous 
crimes,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  strip  him  of  all  the  advan- 
tages of  his  birtli  and  rank,  and  consider  him  a  mere 
subject  of  the  realm. 

^' In  order  to  show  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the 
animus  under  whicli  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  acted,  in  the 
case  before  us,  I  must  go  back  a  little — a  period  of  some 
months.  At  that  time,  a  highly  respectable  gentleman, 
of  an  ancient  and  honored  family  in  this  country,  was 
one  evening  on  his  way  home  from  this  town,  attended, 
as  usual,  by  his  servant.  At  a  lonely  place  on  a  re- 
mote and  antiquated  road,  which  they  took  as  a  short 
cut  home,  it  so  happened,  that  in  consequence  of  a  sud- 
den mist  peculiar  to  those  wild  moors,  they  lost  their 
wa}^,  and  found  themselves  in  circumstances  of  danger 
and  distress.  The  servant,  however,  whistled,  and  his 
whistle  was  answered;  a  party  of  men,  of  freebooters,  of 
robbers,  headed  by  a  person  called  the  Red  Rapparee, 
who  has  been  convicted  at  the  Assizes,  and  who  lias 
been  the  scourge  of  the  country  for  years,  came  up  to 
them,,  and  as  the  Rapparee  had  borne  this  respectable 
gentleman  a  deadly  and  implacable  enmity  for  some 
time  past,  he  was  about  to  murder  both  master  and  man, 
and  actually  had  his  musket  levelled  at  him,  as  others 
of  his  gang  had  at  his  aged  servant,  when  a  person, 
a  gentleman  named  Reilly — [here  there  was  a  loud 
cheer  throughout  the  court,  which,  however,  was 
soon  repressed  and  the  Attorne}'-General  proceeded]— 
this  person  started  out  from  an  old  ruin,  met  the  robber 
face  to  face,  and,  in  short,  not  only  saved  the  lives  of 
the  gentleman   and   his   servant,  but   conducted  them 


WILLY    REILLY.  417 

safely  home.  This  act  of  courage  and  liumanit}',  l)y  a 
Roman  Catholic  to  a  Protestant,  had  such  an  effect 
upon  the  old  gentleman's  daughter,  a  lady  whose  name 
has  gone  far  and  wide /or  her  many  virtues  and  wonder- 
ful beauty,  that  an  attachment  was  formed  between  the 
young  gentleman  and  her.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
gentlemen,  was  a  suitor  for  her  hand  ;  but  as  the  young 
and  amiable  lady  was  acquainted  w^ith  his  character  as  a 
priest-hunter  and  persecutor,  she,  though  herself  a  Prot- 
estant, could  look  upon  him  only  with  abhorrence.  At 
all  events,  after  the  rescue  of  her  father  s  life,  and  her 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Eeilly,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
was  rejected  with  disdain,  as  he  would  have  been,  it 
seems,  if  Reilly  never  had  existed.  Now,  gentlemen  of 
tlie  jury,  observe  that  Reilly  was  a  Catholic,  which  was 
bad  enough  in  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ;  but 
he  was  more,  he  was  a  rival,  and  were  it  not  for  the 
state  of  the  law,  would,  it  appears,  for  there  is  no  doubt 
of  it  now,  have  been  a  successful  one.  From  hence- 
forth, the  prisoner  at  the  bar  marked  Mr.  Reilly  for 
vengeance,  for  destruction,  for  death.  At  this  time  he 
was  in  the  full  exercise  of  irresponsible  authority  ;  he 
could  burn,  hang,  shoot,  without  being  called  to  account  ; 
and  as  it  will  appear  before  you,  gentlemen,  this  con- 
sciousness of  impunity  stimulated  him  to  the  perpetra- 
tion of  such  outrages,  as  in  civil  life,  and  in  a  country 
free  from  civil  war,  are  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of 
crime  and  cruelty. 

''  But,  gentlemen,  what  did  this  man  do  f  this  man, 
so  anxious  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  country  ;  this 
man,  the  terror  of  the  surrounding  districts  :  what  did 
he  do,  I  ask?  Why,  he  took  the  most  notorious  robber 
of  his  day,  the  fierce  and  guilty^  Rapparee — he  took  him 
into  his  counsels,  in  order  that  he  might  enable  him  to 
trace  the  object  of  his  vengeance,  Reilly,  in  the  first 
place,  and  to  lead  him  to  the  hiding-place  of  such  un- 
fortunate Catholic  priests  as  had  taken  refuge   in   the 


"418  WILLY    RE  ILLY. 

caves  and  festnesses  of  the  mount'^ins.  Instead  of  pun- 
ishing this  notorious  malefactor,  he  took  hioi  into  his 
own  house,  made  liim,  as  he  was  proud,  to  call  them., 
one  of  his  priest-hounds^  and  induced  liim  to  believe  that 
he  had  procured  him  a  parcfon  from  Government. 
Reilly's  name  he  had,  by  his  foul  misrepresentations,  got 
into  the  Hiie-and-Crt/,  and  subsequently  had  him  gaz- 
etted as  an  outlaw ;  and  all  this  upon  his  own  irrespon- 
sible authority.  I  mention  nothing,  gentlemen,  in  con- 
nection with  this  trial  which  we  are  not  in  a  capacity 
to  prove. 

"  Having  forced  Reilly  into  a  variety  of  disguises, 
and  hunted  him  like  a  mad  dog  through  the  country, 
having  searched  everjr  lurking-place  in  which  he  thouglit 
he  might  find  him,  he  at  length  resolved  on  the  only 
course  of  vengeance  he  could  pursue.  He  surrounded 
his  habitation,  and  after  searching  for  Reilly  himself,  he 
openly  i-obbed  him  of  all  tliat  was  valuable  of  that  gentle- 
man's furniture,  then  setiirQ  to  his  house,  and  in  the 
clouds  of  the  night  reduced  that  and  every  out-office  he 
had  to  ashes — a  capital  felony.  It  so  happens,  however, 
that  the  house  and  offices  were  in  point  of  fact,  not  the 
property  of  Reilly  at  all,  but  of  a  most  respectable  Prot- 
estant gentleman  and  magistrate,  Mr.  Hastings,  with 
whose  admirable  character  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  all 
acquainted  ;  and  all  that  remains  for  me  to  say  is  that 
he  is  the  prosecutor  in  this  case. 

''And  now,  gentlemen,  we  expect  a  calm,  deliberate, 
and  unbiassed  verdict  from  you.  Look  upon  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  as  an  innocent  man  until  you  can  with 
a  clear  conscience  find  him  guilty  of  the  charges  which 
we  are  in  the  conditions  to  prove  against  him;  but  if 
there  be  any  doubt  upon  your  minds,  I  hope  you  wnll 
give  him  the  benefit  of  it." 

Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  in  fact,  had  no  defence,  and 
could  procure  no  witnesses  to  counteract  the  irresist- 
ible body  of  evidence  that  was  produced   against   him. 


WILLY    REILLY.  419 

Notwitlistanding"  all  tliis,  bis  friends  calculated  upon 
the  ])rejudices  of  a  Protestant  jury.  His  leading  counsel 
made  as  able  a  speech  in  his  defence  as  could  be  made 
under  the  circumstances.  It  consisted,  however,  of 
vague  generalities,  and  dwelt  upon  the  state  of  the 
counti'y  and  the  necessity  that  existed  for  men  of  great 
spirit  and  Protestant  feeling  to  come  out  boldly,  and, 
by  courage  and  energy,  carry  the  laws  that  had  been 
passed  for  the  suppression  of  Popery  into  active  and 
wholesome  operations.  ''Those  laws  were  passed  by 
the»wisest  and  ablest  assembly  of  legislators  in  the 
world ;  and  to  what  purpose  could  legislative  enact- 
ments for  the  preservation  of  Protestant  interests  be 
passed,  if  men  of  true  faith  and  loyalty  could  not  be 
found  to  carry  them  into  effect !  There  were  the  laws  ; 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  did  not  make  those  laws,  and  if 
he  was  invested  w^ith  authority  to  carry  them  into 
operation,  what  did  he  do  but  discharge  a  wholesome 
and  important  duty !  The  country  was  admitted,  on 
all  sides,  to  be  in  a  disturbed  state  :  Popery  was  attempt- 
ing for  years  most  insidiously  to  undermine  the  Prot- 
estant Church,  and  to  sap  the  foundation  of  all  Prot- 
estant interests  ;  and  if,  by  a  pardonable  excess  of 
zeal,  of  zeal  in  the  right  direction,  an  unconscious  lapse 
in  the  discharge  of  what  he  would  call  those  noble  but 
fearful  duties  had  occurred,  was  it  for  those  v/ho  had  a 
sense  of  true  liberty,  and  a  manly  detestation  of  Romish 
intrigue  at  heart,  to  visit  that  upon  the  head  of  a  true 
and  loyal  man,  as  a  crime  !  Forbid  it,  the  spirit  of 
the  British  Constitution — forbid  it,  heaven — forbid  it 
Protestantism  !  No,  gentleman  of  the  jury,"  &c., 
&c.. 

We  need  not  go  further,  because  we  have  condensed 
in  the  few  sentences  given  the  gist  of  all  he  said. 

When  the  case  was  closed,  the  jury  retired  to  their 
room,  and  as  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft's  fate  depends  upon 
their  verdict,  we  will  be  kind  enough  to  avail  ourselves 


420  WILLY    REILLY. 

of  the  open  sesame  of  our  poor  imagination  to  introduce 
our  readers  invisibly  into  the  jury-roora. 

^'  Now,"  said  the  foreman,  ^'  what's  to  be  done  'F 
Are  we  to  sacrifice  a  Protestant  champion  to  Popery  V 
"'  To  Popery  !  To  the  devil,"  replied  another  ;  it's 
not  Popery  that  is  prosecuting  him.  Put  down  Popery 
by  argument,  by  fair  argument — but  don't  murder 
those  that  profess  it,  in  cold  blood.  As  the  Attorney 
General  said,  let  us  make  it  our  own  case,  and  if  the 
Papishes  treated  us  as  we  have  treated  them,  what 
would  we  say?  By  h— s,  Til  hang  that  fellow.  He's 
a  Protestant  champion,  they  say  ;  but  I  say  he's  a  Prot- 
estant bloodhound,  and  a  cowardly  rascal  to  boot." 

'^  How  is  he  a  cowardly  rascal,  Bob  hasn't  he  proved 
himself  a  brave  man  against  the  Papishes,  eh." 

^'  A  brave  man  !  devil  thank  him  for  being  a  brave 
man  against  poor  devils  that  are  allowed  nothing  stouter 
than  a  horse-rod  to-defend  themselves  with — when  he 
has  a  party  of  well-armed  bloodhounds  at  his  back. 
He's  the  worst  landlord  in  Ireland,  and,  above  all  things, 
he's  a  tyrant  to  his  Protestant  tenants,  this  champion 
of  Protestantism.  Ay,  and  fierce  as  he  is  against 
Popery,  there's  not  a  Papisli  tenant  on  his  estate  that 
he's  not  like  a  father  to." 

''  And  how  the  devil  do  you  know  that  ?" 

''  Because  I  was  head  bailiff  to  him  for  ten  years." 

''  But  doesn't  all  the  world  know  that  he  hates  the 
Papists,  and  would  have  them  massacred  if  he  could  I " 

"  And  so  he  does — and  so  he  would  ;  but  it's  all  his 
cowardice,  because  he's  afraid  that  if  he  was  harsh  to 
his  Popish  tenants,  some  of  them  might  shoot  him  from 
behind  a  hedge  some  fine  night,  and  give  him  a  leaden 
bullet  for  his  supper." 

"•  I  know  he's  a  coward,"  observed  another,  ^'  because 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  horsewhipped  by  Major  Bing- 
ham,  and  didn't  call  him  out  for  it." 

"0  as  to  that,"  said  another,  *^it  was  made  up  by 


WILLY    REILLY.  421 

their  friends  ;  but  what's  to  be  done  ?  All  the  evidence 
is  against  him,  and  we  are  on  our  oaths  to  find  a  verdict 
according  t6  the  evidence." 

"  Evidence  be  d d,"  said  another  ;   "■  I'll  sit  here 

till  doomsday,  before  I  find  him  guilty.  Are  we,  that 
are  all  loyal  Protestants,  to  bring  out  a  varjuice  to  please 
the  Papishes  ?  0  no,  faith  ;  but  here's  the  thing,  gen- 
tlemen ;  mark  me ;  here  now,  I  take  off  my  shoes,   and 

by I'll  ait  them  before  I  find  him    guilty ;"  and,   as 

he  spoke,  he  deliberately  slipped  off  his  shoes,  and  placed 
them  on  the  table  ready  for  his  tough  and  loyal  repast. 

'^  By  Gog,"  said  another,  '^  I'll  hang  him  in  spite  of 
your  teeth  :  and  after  aiten  your  brogues,  you  may  go 
barefooted  to  hell  if  you  like.  /  have  brogues  to  ait,  as 
well  as  you  :  and  one  of  mine  is  as  big  as  two  of  yours." 

This  was  followed  bv  a  chorus  of  laug-hter,  after 
which  they  began  to  consider  the  case  before  them,  like 
admirable  and  well-reasoning  jurors  as  they  were.  Two 
hours  passed  in  wrangling,  and  talking,  and  recrimina- 
ting, when  at  last,  one  of  them,  striking  the  table,  ex- 
claimed with  an  oath  : — 

'^  No,  by  heavens,  all  Europe  won't  save  the  villain. 
Didn't  he  seduce  my  sister's  daughter,  and  then  throw 
her  and  her  child  back,  with  shame  and  disgrace,  on  the 
family,  without  support  V 

''  Look  at  that,"  said  the  owner  of  the  shoe,  holding 
it  up  triumphantly  ;  "  that's  my  supper  to-night.  I  say 
our  Protestant  champion  mustn't  hang,  at  least  until  I 
starve  first." 

The  other,  who  sat  opposite  him,  put  his  hand  across 
th©  table,  and  snatching  the  shoe,  struck  its  owner  be- 
tween the  two  eyes  with  it,  and  knocked  him  back  on 
the  floor.  A  scene  of  uproar  took  place,  which  lasted 
for  son:ie  minutes  ;  but,  at  length,  by  the  influence  of 
the  foreman,  matters  were  brought  to  a  somewhat 
amicable  issue.  In  this  way  they  spent  the  time  fov  a  few 
hours  more,  when  one  of  the  usual  messengers  came  to 


422  WILLY    REILLY. 

know  if  tliey  had  agreed ;  but  he  was  instantly  dis- 
missed to  a  very  warm  settlement,  with  the  assurance 
that  they  had  not.  • 

''  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  pulling  out  a  pack  of 
cards,  "let  us  amuse  ourselves,  at  any  rate.  Who's  for 
a  hand  at  the  Spoil  Five!" 

The  cards  were  looked  upon  as  a  godsend,  and  in  a 
few  moments,  one-half  the  jury  were  busily  engaged  at 
the  interesting  game.  The  other  portion  of  them  amused 
themselves,  in  the  meantime,  as  well  as  they  could. 

*' Tom,"  said  one  of  them,  ^*  were  you  ever  on  a 
special  jury  in  a  Revenue  case  f^ 

''  No,"  replied  Tom,  ''  never.     Is  there  much  fun  f 

^^  The  devil's  own  fun  ;  because  if  we  find  for  the  de- 
fendant, he's  sure  to  give  us  a  splendid  feed.  But 
do  you  know  how  we  manage  when  we  find  that  we 
can  t  agree  I" 

^^No.     How  is  it  r 

'^  AVhy,  you  see,  when  the  case  is  too  clear  against 
him,  and  then  to  find  for  him  would  be  too  barefaced, 
we  get  every  man  to  mark  down  on  a  slip  of  paper  the 
amount  of  damages  he  is  disposed  to  give  against  him  * 
when  they're  all  down,  we  tot  them  up,  and  divide  by- 
twelve " 

''  Silence,"  said  another,  ^*  till  we  hear  John  Dickson's 


sonof." 


The  said  John  Dickson  was  at  the  time  indulg-inor 
them  with  a  comic  song,  which  was  encored  with  roars 
of  laughter. 

''  Hallo  1"  shouted  one  of  those  at  the  cards,  '^  here's 
Jack  Brierboy  has  prigged  the  ace  of  hearts." 

''  0  gentlemen,"  said  Jack,  who  was  a  greater  knave 
at  the  cards  than  any  in  the  pack ;  '^  upon  my  honor, 
gentlemen,  you  wrong  me." 

*'  Til  ere — he  has  dropped  it,"  said  anotlier  ;  ^'  look 
under  the  table." 

The  search  was  made,   and  up  was  lugged  the  re- 


WILLY    REILLY.  423 

doubtable  ace  of  hearts,  from  under  one  of  Jack^s  feet, 
who  liad  lioped,  by  covering  it,  to  esca])e  detection. 
Detected,  however,  lie  was,  and  as  they  all  knew  liim 
well,  the  laughter  was  loud  accordingly,  and  none  of 
theui  laughed  louder  than  Jack  himself. 

"  Jack,"  said  another  of  them,  ''  let  us  have  a  touch 
of  the  legerdemain." 

'' Gentlemen,  attention,"  said  Jack.  ^' Will  any  of 
you  lend  me  a  half- penny  I" 

This  was  immediately  supplied  to  him,  and  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  stick  it  on  his  forehead — although, 
God  knows,  there  had  been  brass  enough  there  before 
— to  which  it  appeared  to  have  been  glued  ;  after  a 
space,  he  took  it  off,  and  placed  it  in  the  palm  of  his 
right  hand, -which  he  closed,  and  then,  extending  both 
his  hands,  shut,  asked  those  about  him  in  which  hand 
it  was.  Of  course,  they  all  said  in  the  right ;  but  upon 
Jack's  opening  the  said  hand,  there  was  no  half-penny 
there. 

In  this  way  they  discussed  a  case  of  life  and  death, 
until  another  knock  came,  which  "  knock"  received  the 
same  answer  as  before. 

"  Faith,"  said  a  powerful-looking  farmer  from  near 
the  town  of  Boyle —  the  very  picture  of  health — ''if 
they  don't  soon  let  us  out  I'll  get  sick.  It's  I  that  al- 
ways does  the  sickness  for  the  jury,  when  we're  kept 
in  too  long." 

"  In  God's  name,  Billy  Bradley,"  asked  one  of  them, 
^'  how  could  you,  of  all  men  living,  sham  sickness  on  a 
dodJier  f 

"Because,"  said  Billy,  with  a  grin,  "I'm  beginning 
to  feel  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head,  for  want  of  a 
beefsteak  and  a  pot  o'  porther.  My  father  and  grand- 
father both  died  of  a  divarsion  of  blood  to  the  head." 

"  I  rather  think,"  observed  another,  "  that  they  died 
by  taking  their  divarsion  at  the  beefsteak  and  the  pot 
of  porter." 


424  WILLY    REILLY. 

"Devil  a  matther,"  said  Billy;  "  they  died  at  all 
events,  and  so  will  we  all,  plaise  God." 

^'Corne,"  said  one  of  them,  "there  is  Jack  Brierboy 
and  his  cane — let  us  come  to  business.  What  do  you 
say.  Jack,  as  to  the  prisoner  1" 

Jack,  at  the  time,  had  the  aforesaid  cane  between 
his  legs,  over  which  he  was  bent  like  a  bow,  and  with 
the  head  of  it  in  his  mouth. 

"  Are  you  all  agreed  f  asked  Jack. 

"  All  for  a  verdict  of  guilty,  with  the  exception  of 
this  follow  and  his  shoes." 

Jack  Brierboy  Avas  a  handsome  old  fellow,  with  a 
red  face,  and  a  pair  of  watery  eyes ;  he  was  a  little 
lame,  and  hirpled  as  Jie  walked,  in  consequence  of  a 
hip  complaint,  which  he  got  by  a  fall  from  a  jaunting 
car;  but  he  was  now  steady  enough,  except  the  grog. 

"  Jack,  Avhat  do  you  say  f  asked  the  foreman  ;  "  it's 
time  to  do  something." 

"  Wli}^,"  replied  Jack,  "the  scoundrel  engaged  me  to 
put  up  a  pump  for  him,  and  I  did  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  was  a  credit  to  his  establishment.  To  be  sure,  he 
wanted  the  water  to  come  whenever  it  was  asked  ;  but 
I  told  him  that  that  wasn't  my  S3'stem ;  that  I  didn't 
want  to  make  a  good  thing  too  cheap  ;  but  that  the  water 
would  come  in  genteel  time — that  is  to  say,  whenever 
they  didn't  want  it ;  and  faith,  the  water  bore  me  out." 
And  liere  Jack  laughed  heartily.  "  But  no  matter,"  pro- 
ceeded Jack,  ' '  he's  only  a  hujeen ;  sure  it  was  his  mother 
nursed  me.  Where's  that  fellow  that's  goin^''  to  eat  his 
shoes!  Here,  Ned  Wilson,  you  flaming  Protestant,  I 
have  neither  been  a  grand  juror  nor  a  petty  juror  of  the 
county  of  Sligo  for  nothing.  Where  are  you  ?  Take 
my  cane—place  it  between  your  knees  as  you  saw  me 
do— -put  your  mouth  down  to  the  head  of  it — suck  up 
with  all  your  strength,  and  you'll  find  that  God  will 
give  you  sense  afterwards  " 

Wilson,  who  had  taken  such  a  fancy   for  eating  his 


WILLY    REILLY.  425 

shoes,  in  order  to  show  liis  loyalty,  was  what  is  called 
a  hard  goer^  and  besides,  a  great  friend  of  Jack's.  At 
all  events,  he  followed  his  advice — put  tlie  head  of  the 
huge  cane  into  his  mouth,  and  drew  up  accordingly. 
Tlie  cane  in  fact,  was  hollow  all  through,  and  contained 
about  three  half-pints  of  strong  whiskey.  There  was 
some  wrangling  with  the  man,  for  a  little  time  after  this  ; 
but  at  length  he  approached  Jack,  and  handing  him  the 
empty  cane,  said  : — 

"  What's  your  opinion,  Jack?" 

''Why,  we  must  hang  him,"  replied  Jack.  ''  He  de- 
frauded me  in  the  pump ;  and  I  ask  you,  did  you  ever 
put  your  nose  to  a  better  pump  than  that  P 

''  Give  me  your  hand,  Jack ;  we're  agreed — he 
swings  !" 

At  this  moment,  an  officer  came  to  ask  the  same  ques- 
tion, when,  in  reply,  the  twelve  jurymen  came  out,  and, 
amidst  the  most  profound  silence  the  foreman  handed 
down  the  issue  paper  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown. 

""  Gentleman,'^  said  that  officer,  after  having  cast  his 
eye  over  it,  "  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  f 

"  We  have." 

'^  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty,  or  not  guilty  f 

''  Guilty." 

Let  us  pause  here  a  moment,  and  reflect  upon  the 
precarious  tenure  of  life,  as  it  is  frequently  effected  by 
such  scenes  as  the  above,  in  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice. Here  was  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye,  shivering 
in  the  dock  with  the  natural  apprehension  of  his  fate,  but 
supported,  notwithstanding,  by  the  delay  of  the  jury  in 
coming  to  a  verdict.  He  argued,  reasonably  enough, 
that  in  consequence  of  that  very  delay  he  must  neces- 
sarily have  friends  among  them,  who  would  hold  out  to 
the  last.  The  state  of  suspense,  however,  in  w^hich  he 
was  held,  must  have  been  and  was  dreadful.  His  lips 
and  throat  became  parched  by  excitement,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  drink  three  or  four  glasses  of  water.     Being 


426  WILLY    REILLY. 

unable  to  stand  he  was  accommodated  with  a  chair,  on 
which,  while  he  sat,  the  perspiration  flowed  from  his  pal- 
lid face.  Yet,  with  the  exception  of  his  own  clique, 
there  was  scarcely  an  individual  present  who  did  not 
hope  that  this  trial  would  put  an  end  to  his  career  of 
blood.  After  all,  there  was  something  of  tlie  retributive 
justice  of  Providence  even  in  the  conduct  and  feelings  of 
the  jury  ;  for,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  more  on  account 
of  his  private  crimes,  and  private  infamy,  tliat  they, 
however  wrongly,  brought  in  their  verdict.  Here  was 
he,  encircled  by  their  knowledge  of  his  own  iniquities — 
apart  from  his  public  acts  ;  and  there,  standing  in  that 
dock,  from  which  he  might  have  gone  out  free,  so  far  as 
regarded  his  political  exploits,  he  found,  although  he  did 
not  know  it,  the  black  weight  of  his  private  vices  fall 
upon  his  head,  in  the  shape  of  the  verdict  just  delivered. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  his  appearance  on 
hearing  it ;  his  head  fell  down  upon  his  breast,  listless, 
helpless,  and  with  a  character  of  despair  that  was  pain- 
ful to  contemplate.  When  the  verdict  was  handed 
down,  the  judge  immediately  put  on  the  black  cap  ;  but 
Whitecraft's  head  was  resting  on  his  breast,  and  he  did 
not  for  some  time  see  it.  At  length,  stirred  into  some- 
thing like  life  by  the  accents  of  the  judge,  he  raised  his 
head  with  an  effort.  The  latter  addressed  him  thus  : — 
''Robert  Whitecraft, — You  have  been  convicted  this 
day,  by  as  enlightened  a  jur}'  as  ever  sat  in  a  jury- 
box.  You  must  be  aware  yourself,  by  the  lengjli  of 
time,  and  consequently  the  deep  and  serious  investi- 
gation which  they  bestowed — and  it  is  evident  pain- 
fully bestowed — upon  your  unhappy  case,  that  your 
conviction  is  the  deliberate  result  of  their  conscientious 
opinion.  It  is  obvious,  as  I  said,  from  the  length  of 
time  occupied  in  the  jurv-room,  that  the  evidence  in 
your  case  was  sifted  closely,  and  canvassud  with  the 
abilitv  and  exnenence  oi  aoie  andhonesi  men.  m  tne 
verdict  tney  nave  returned  tne  Court  perrectiy  concurs  ; 


WILLY   REILLY.  427 

and  it  now  only  remains  for  me  to  pass  upon  you  the 
awful  sentence  of  the  law  which  is  due  to  your  cruel 
life  and  flagitious  crimes.  Were  you  a  man  without 
education,  nurtured  in  ignorance,  and  the  slave  of  its 
debasing  consequences,  some  shade  of  compassion  might 
be  felt  for  you  on  that  account.  But  you  cannot  plead 
tliis  ;  you  cannot  plead  poverty,  or  that  necessity  which 
urges  many  a  political  adventurer  to  come  out  as  a 
tyrant  and  oppressor  upon  his  fellow-subjects,  under 
the  shield  of  the  law,  and  in  the  corrupt  expectation  of 
reward  or  promotion.  You  were  not  only  independent 
in  your  own  circumstances — nay,  you  possessed  great 
wealth  ;  and  why  you  shoulds  hape  yourself  such  an  aw- 
ful course  of  crime,  can  only  be  attributed  to  a  heart 
naturally  fond  of  persecution  and  blood.  I  cannot, 
any  more  than  the  learned  Attorney-Greneral,  suffer  the 
privileges  of  rank,  wealth,  or  position  to  sway  me  from 
the  firm  dictates  of  justice.  You  imagined  that  the 
law  would  connive  at  you — and  it  did  so  too  long — 
but  believe  me,  that  sooner  or  later,  it  will  abandon 
the  individual  that  has  been  provoking  it,  and,  like  a 
tiger  when  goaded  beyond  patience,  will  turn  and  tear 
its  victim  to  pieces.  It  remains  for  me  now  to  pro- 
nounce the  awful  sentence  of  the  law  upon  you ;  but 
before  I  do  so,  let  me  entreat  you  to  turn  your  heart 
to  that  Being  who  will  never  refuse  mercy  to  a  repen- 
tant sinner ;  and  I  press  this  upon  you  the  more,  be- 
cause you  need  not  entertain  the  slightest  expectation 
of  finding  it  in  this  world.  In  order,  therefore,  that 
you  may  collect  and  compose  your  mind  for  the  great 
event  that  is  before  you,  I  will  allow  you  four  days,  in 
order  that  you  may  make  a  Christian  use  of  your  time, 
and  prepare  your  spirit  for  a  greater  tribunal  than  this. 
The  sentence  of  the  Court  is,  that,  on  the  fifth  day 
after  this,  you  be,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  ;  and  may  God  liave 
mercy  on  your  soul  !" 

At  first  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  court,  and  a 


428  WILLY    REILLY. 

portion  of  the  audience  was  taken  completely  by  sur- 
prise on  hearing  both  the  verdict  and  the  sentence. 
At  length  a  deep,  condensed  murmur,  which  rose  by 
deo*rees  into  a  veil  of  execration,  burst  forth  from  his 
friends,  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  a  peal  of  cheers  and 
acclamations  rang  so  loudly  through  the  court  that  they 
completely  drowned  the  indignant  vociferations  of  the 
others.  In  the  meantime  silence  was  restored,  and  it 
was  found  that  the  convict  had  been  removed  during  the 
confusion  to  one  of  the  condemned  cells.  What  now 
were  his  friends  to  do  !  Was  it  possible  to  take  any 
steps  by  which  he  might  yet  be  saved  from  such  a  dis- 
graceful death!  Pressed  as  they  were  for  time, 
they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  chance  exist- 
ino"  in  his  favor  was  for  a  deputation  of  as  many  of  the 
leading  Protestants  of  the  county  as  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  join  in  the  measure,  to  proceed  to  Dublin  with- 
our  delay.  Immediately,  therefore,  after  the  trial,  a 
meeting  of  the  baronet's  friends  was  held  in  the  head 
inn  of  Slio-o,  where  the  matter  was  earnestly  discussed. 
Whitecraft  had  been  a  man  of  private  and  solitary  en- 
joyments— in  social  and  domestic  life,  as  cold,  selfish, 
inhospitable,  and  repulsive  as  he  was  cruel  and  un- 
scrupulous in  his  public  career.  The  consequence  was, 
that  he  had  few  personal  friends  of  either  rank  or  in- 
fluence, and  if  the  matter  had  rested  upon  his  own  per- 
sonal character  and  merits  alone,  he  would  have  been 
left,  without  an  effort,  to  the  fate  which  had  that  day 
been  pronounced  upon  him.  The  consideration  on  the 
matter,  however,  was  not  confined  to  himself  as  an  in- 
dividual, but  to  the  Protestant  party  at  large,  and  his 
conviction  was  looked  upon  as  a  Popish  triumph.  On 
this  account  many  persons  of  rank  and  influence,  who 
would  not  otherwise  have  taken  any  interest  in  his  fate, 
came  forward,  for  the  purpose,  if  possible,  of  defeating 
the  Popish  party — who,  by  the  way,  had  nothing  what- 
soever to  do  in  promoting  his  conviction, — and  of  pre- 


wiLT.Y   in-:iLi.v.  429 

venting  the  stigma  and  deej)  disgrace  which  his  execu- 
tion would  attach  to  their  own.  A  very  respectable 
deputation  was  consequently  formed,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  next  day  proceeded  to  Dublin,  to  urge  their 
claims  in  his  favor  with  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  This 
nobleman,  though  apparently  favorable  to  the  Catholic 
people,  was  nevertheless  personally  and  secretly  a 
bitter  enemy  to  them.  Tlie  state  policy  which  he  was 
instructed  and  called  upon  to  exercise  in  their  favor 
diifered  toto  cvelo  from  his  own  impressions.  He  spoke 
to  them,  however,  sweetly  and  softly,  praised  them  for 
their  forbearance,  and  made  large  promises  in  their 
favor,  whilst,  at  the  same  time,  ''  he  flattered  the  passions 
and  indulged  the  rancor  of  the  others." 

The  deputation,  on  arriving  at  the  Castle,  ascertain- 
ed, to  their  mortification,  that  the  Vicero}'  would  not  be 
at  home  until  the  following  day,  having  spent  the  last 
week  with  a  nobleman  in  the  neiofhborhood  ;  thev  were 
consequently  obliged  to  await  his  arrival.  After  his 
return  they  were  admitted  to  an  audience,  in  which 
they  stated  their  object  in  waiting  upon  him,  and  urged, 
with  great  earnestness,  the  necessity  of  arresting  the 
fate  of  such  a  distinguished  Protestant  as  Sir  Robert 
Whitecraft ;  after  which  they  entered  into  a  long  state- 
ment of  the  necessity  that  existed  for  such  active  and 
energetic  men  in  the  peculiar  and  dangerous  state  of 
the  country. 

To  all  this,  however,  he  replied  with  great  suavity, 
assuring  them  that  no  man  felt  more  anxious  to  promote 
Protestant  interests  than  he  did,  and  added,  that  the 
relaxation  of  the  laws  against  the  Catholics  was  not 
the  result  of  his  own  personal  policy  or  feeling,  but 
the  consequence  of  the  instructions  he  had  received  from 
the  English  Cabinet.  He  would  be  very  glad  to  com- 
ply with  the  wishes  of  the  deputation  if  he  could,  but, 
at  present,  it  was  impossible.  This  man's  condu\!;t  was 
indefensible  ;  for,  not  content  with  carrying  out  the 


430  WILLY     REILLY. 

laws  against  the  Catholics  with  unnecessaiy  rigor,  he 
committed  a  monstrous  outrage  against  a  French  sub- 
ject of  distinction,  in  consequence  of  which  the  French 
Court,  through  their  Ambassador  in  London,  insisted 
upon  his  punishment. 

"Very  well,  my  lord,"  replied  the  spokesman  of  the 
deputation  ;  ''I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  if  a  hair  of  this 
man's  head  is  injured,  there  will  be  a  massacre  of  the 
Popish  population  before  two  months  ;  and  I  beg  also 
to  let  you  know,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  Eno-lish  Cab- 
inet, that  they  may  embroil  themselves  with  France,  or 
get  into  whatever  political  embarassment  they  please, 
but  an  Irish  Protestant  will  never  hoist  a  musket,  or 
draw  a  sword,  in  their  defence.  Gentlemen,  let  us  bid 
his  Excellency  a  good  morning." 

This  was  startling  language,  as  the  effect  proved,  for  it 
startled  the  Viceroy  intoa  compliance  with  their  wishes, 
and  they  went  home  post-haste,  in  order  that  the  par- 
don might  arrive  in  time. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

jRUMOR  OF  THE  COLEEN  BAWN's    TREACHERY — HOW    IT    AP- 
PEARS— REILLY  STANDS  HIS  TRIAL CONCLUSION. 

Life,  they  say,is  a  life  of  trials,  and  so  may  it  be  said 
of  this  tale — at  least  at  the  conclusion  of  it — for  we  feel 
that  it  devolves  upon  us  once  more  to  solicit  the  pres- 
ence of  our  readers  to  the  same  prison  in  which  the  Red 
Rapparee  and  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft  received  their  sen- 
tence of  doom. 

,  As  it  is  impossible  to  close  the  mouth  or  to  silence  the 
tongue  of  fame,  so  we  may  assure  our  readers,  as  we 
have  before,  that  the  history  of  the  loves  of  those  two 
celebrated  individuals,  to  wit,  Willy  Reilly  and  the  far- 


WILIA'    REILLY.  431 

famed  Colecn  Baivii,  had  given  an  interest  to  the  coni- 
inor  trial  such  as  was  never  known  within  the  memorv 
of  man,  at  that  period,  norpei'haps  equalled  since.  The 
Red  Rapparee,  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft,  and  all  the  other 
celebrated  Villains  of  that  time,  have  perished  out  of 
tradition  itself,  whilst  those  of  our  hero  and  heroine  are 
still  fresh  in  the  feelings  of  the  Connaught  and  Northern 
peasantry,  at  whose  hearths,  during  the  winter  evenings, 
the  rude  but  fine  old  ballad  tliat  commemorates  that 
love  is  still  sung  with  sympathy,  and  sometimes  as  we 
can  testify,  with  tears.  This  is  fame.  One  circumstance, 
liowever,  which  deepened  the  interest  felt  by  the  peo- 
ple, told  powerfully  against  the  consistency  of  the 
Coleen  Bawn,  wdiich  was,  that  she  had  resolved  to  come 
forward  that  day  to  bear  evidence  against  her  lover. 
Such  was  the  general  impression  received  from  her  fa- 
ther, and  the  attorney  Doldrum,  who  conducted  the 
trial  against  Reilly.  The  governor  of  the  prison,  on 
going  that  morning  to  conduct  him  to  the  bar,    said: — 

''  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Reilly,  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad 
news  ;  but  as  the  knowledge  of  it  may  be  serviceable  to 
you  or  your  lawyers,  I  think  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you." 

"Pray,  what  is  it  I"  asked  Reilly. 

"Why,  sir,  it  is  a  fact  that  the  Coleen  Baivn  has 
proved  false  and  treacherous,  and  is  coming  this  day  to 
bear  her  testimony  against  you." 

Reilly  replied  with  a  smile  of  confidence,  which  the 
darkness  of  the  room  prevented  the  other  from  seeing, 
"  Well,  Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  even  if  she  does,  it  cannot  be 
helped ;  have  you  heard  what  the  nature  of  her  evidence 
is  likely  to  be  T 

^'No  ;  it  seems  her  father  and  Doldrum  the  attorney 
asked  her,  and  she  wouldn't  tell  them  ;  but  she  said  she 
had  made  her  mind  up  to  attend  the  trial  and  see  justice 
done.  Don't  be  cast  down,  Mr.  Reilly ;  though,  upon 
my  soul,  I  think  she  ought  to  have  stood  it  out  in  your 
favor  to  the  last." 


432  WILLY  REILLY. 

^'  Come,"  said  Reilly,  ''  I  am  ready  ;  time  will  tell, 
Mr.  O'Shaughnessy,  and  a  short  time  too ;  a  few 
hom's  now,  and  all  will  know  the  result." 

'^  I  hope  in  God  it  may  be  in  your  favor,  Mr.  Reilly." 

'^  Thank  you,  O'Shaughnessy  ;  lead  on,  1  am  ready  to 
attend  you." 

The  jail  was  crowded  even  to  suffocation  ;  but  this 
was  not  all.  The  street  opposite  the  jail  was  nearly  as 
much  crowded  as  the  jail  itself;  a  moving,  a  crushing 
mass  of  thousands  having  been  collected  to  abide  and 
hear  the  issue.  It  was  with  great  difficulty,  and  not 
without  the  aid  of  a  strong  military  force,  that  a  way 
could  be  cleared  for  the  judge,  as  he  approached  the 
prison.  The  crowd  was  silent  and  passive,  but  in  con- 
sequence of  the  report  that  the  Coleen  Baicn  was  to  ap- 
pear against  Reilly,  a  profound  melancholy  and  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  sorrow  seemed  to  brood  over  it.  Im- 
mediately after  the  judge's  carriage  came  that  of  the 
squire,  who  was  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  Mrs.  Hastings  ;  for  Helen  had  insisted 
that  her  father  should  procure  their  attendance.  A 
private  room  in  the  prison  had,'by  previous  arrangement, 
been  prepared  for  them,  and  to  this  they  were  conduct- 
ed by  a  back  way,  so  as  to  avoid  the  crushing  of  the 
crowd.  It  was  by  this  way  also,  that  the  judge  and 
lawyers  entered  the  body  of  the  court-house,  without 
passing  through  the  congregated  mass. 

At  length  the  judge,  having  robed  himself,  took  his 
seat  on  the  bench,  and,  on  casting  his  eye  over  the 
court-house,  was  astonished  at  the  dense  multitude  that 
stood  before  him.  On  looking  at  the  galleries  he  saw 
that  they  were  crowded  with  ladies  of  rank  and  fashion. 
Everything  having  been  now  ready,  the  lawyers,  each 
with  his  brief  before  him,  and  each  with  a  calm  but 
serious  and  meditative  aspect,  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown 
cried  out,  in  a  voice  which  the  hum  of  the  crown  ren- 
dered necessarily  loud :— 


WILLY     KEILLY.  433 

*^  Mr.  Jailer,  put  William  Reilly  to  the  bar." 
At  that  moment  a  stir,  a  nuirmur,  especially  among 
the  ladies  in  the  gallery,  and  a  turning  of  faces  in  the 
direction  of  the  bar,  took  place  as  Reilly  came  for- 
ward, and  stood  erect  in  front  of  the  judge.  The  very 
moment  he  made  his  appearance,  all  eyes  were  fast- 
ened on  him,  and  whatever  the  prejudices  may  have 
been  against  the  Cohen  Bawn  for  falling  in  love  with  a 
Papist,  that  moment  of  his  appearance  absolved  her 
from  all — from  everything.  A  more  noble  or  majestic 
figure  never  stood  at  that  or  any  other  bar.  In  the 
very  prime  of  manhood,  scarcely  out  of  youth,  with  a 
figure  like  that  of  Antinous,  tall,  muscular,  yet  elegant, 
brown  hair  of  the  richest  shade,  a  lofty  forehead,  feat- 
ures of  the  most  manly  cast,  but  exquisitely  formed, 
and  eyes  which,  but  for  the  mellow  softness  of  their  ex- 
pression, an  eagle  might  have  envied  for  their  transpar- 
ent brilliancy.  The  fame  of  his  love  for  the  Coleen  Baivn 
had  come  before  him ;  the  judge  surveyed  him  with 
deep  interest ;  so  did  every  eye  that  could  catch  a 
view  of  his  countenance  ;  but,  above  all,  were  those  in 
the  gallery  riveted  upon  him  with  a  degree  of  interest 
— and  now  that  they  had  seen  him,  of  sympathy — 
which  we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Some  of  them 
were  so  deeply  affected  that  they  could  not  suppress 
their  tears,  which,  by  the  aid  of  their  handkerchiefs 
they  endeavored  to  conceal  as  well  as  they  could. 
Government  in  this  case,  as  it  was  not  one  of  political 
interest,  did  not  prosecute.  A  powerful  bar  was  re- 
tained against  Reilly,  but  an  equally  powerful  one  was 
engaged  for  him  ;  the  leading  lawyer  being,  as  we  have 
stated,  the  celebrated  advocate  Fox,  the  Curran  of 
his  day. 

The  charge  against  him  consisted  of  only  two  counts 
— that  of  robbing  Squire  Folliard  of  family  jewels  of 
immense  value,  and  that  of  running  away  with  his 
daughter,  a  ward  of  Chancery,  contrary  to  her  consent 


434  WILLY    REILLY. 

and  inclination,  and  to  the  laws  in  that  case  m'ade  and 
provided. 

The  first  witness  produced  was  the  sheriff — and  in- 
deed, to  state  the  truth,  a  very  reluctant  one  was  that 
humane  gentleman,  on  the  occasion.  Having  been 
sworn,  the  leading  counsel  proceeded  :~ 

**  You  are  the  sheriff  of  this  county  P 

"'  I  am." 

'^  Are  you  aware  that  jewelry,  to  a  large  amount, 
was  stolen  recently  from  Mr.  Folliard  f 

''  I  am  not." 

'^  You  are  not  1  Now,  is  it  not  a  fact,  of  which  you 
were  an  eye-witness,  that  the  jewelry  in  question  was 
found  upon  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  in  Mr. 
Folliard's  house?" 

^'  I  must  confess  that  I  saw  him  about  to  be  searched, 
and  that  a  very  valuable  case  of  jewelry  was  found 
upon  his  person." 

''  Yes,  found  upon  his  person — a  very  valuable  case 
of  jewehy,  the  property  of  Mr.  Folliard,  found  upon 
his  person  ;   mark  that,  gentlemen  of  the  jury." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  sheriff,  '^  I  saw  jewelry  found 
upon  him  ;  but  I  caimot  say  on  my  oath  whether  it  be- 
longed to  Mr.  Folliard  or  not ;  all  I  can  say  is,  that  Mr. 
Folliard  claimed  the  jewels  as  his." 

^'  As  his — ^just  so.  Nobody  had  a  better  right  to 
claim  them  than  the  person  to  whom  they  belonged. 
What  took  place  on  the  occasion  ?" 

**  Why,  Mr.  Folliard,  as  I  said,  claimed  them,  and 
Mr.  Reilly  refused  to  give  them  up  to  him." 

^' You  hear  that,  gentlemen — refused  to  surrender 
him  the  property  of  which  he  had  robbed  him,  even  in 
his  own  house.  Well,  when  you  searched  the  prison- 
er r 

^'  We  didn't  search  him — he  refused  to  submit  to  a 
search." 

'^  Refused  to  submit  to  a  search  !  No  wonder,  I  think. 


WILLY    REILLY.  435 

But  At  the  time  he  refused  to  submit  to  a  search,  had  he 
the  jewehy  uDon  his  person  1" 

''He  had."'   ^ 

''  He  had.  You  hear  that,  gentlemen —  at  the  time 
he  refused  to  be  searched  he  had  the  jewehy  upon  his 
person." 

The  sheriff  was  then  cross-examined  by  Fox,  to  the 
following  effect : — 

*'  Mr.  Sheriff,  have  you  been  acquainted,  or  are  you 
acquainted,  with  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  I" 

*' Yes;  I  have  known  him  for  about  three  years — 
almost  ever  since  he  settled  in  this  county." 

*'  AYhat  is  your  opinion  of  him  ?" 

''  My  opinion  of  him  is  very  high." 

''  Yes — your  opinion  of  him  is  very  high,"  with  a 
significant  glance  at  the  jury — "I  believe  it  is,  and  I 
believe  it  ought  to  be.  Now,  upon  your  oath,  do  you 
believe  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  capable  of  the 
theft  or  robbery  imputed  to  him  ?" 

*'  I  do  not." 

''  You  do  not*?  What  did  he  say  when  the  jewels 
were  found  upon  him  f 

''  He  refused  to  surrender  them  to  Mr.  Folliard,  as 
having  no  legal  claim  upon  them,  and  refused,  at  first, 
to  place  them  in  any  hands  but  Miss  Folliard's  own ; 
but  on  understanding  that  she  was  not  in  a  state  to  re- 
ceive them  from  him,  he  placed  them  in  mine." 

''Then  he  considered  that  they  were  Miss  Folliard's 
personal  property,  and  not  her  father's  f 

*'  So  it  seemed  to  me,  from  what  he  said  at  that  time." 

"  That  will  do,  sir ;  you  may  go  down." 

"  Alexander  Folliard  !"  and  the  father  then  made  his 
appearance  at  the  table.  He  looked  about  him  with  n 
restless  eye,  and  appeared  in  a  state  of  great  agitation  ; 
but  it  was  the  agitation  of  an  enraged  and  revenge- 
ful man.  He  turned  his  eyes  upon  Reilly,  and  exclaim- 
ed with  bitterness  ;  "  There  you  are,  Willy  Reilly,  who 


436  WILLY    REILLY. 

have  stained  the  reputation  of  my  child,  and  disgraced 
her  family." 

''  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  his  lawyer,  **  you  have  had  in 
your  posession  very  valuable  family  jewels  ?" 

"  I  bad." 

^'  Wbose  property  were  they  ?" 

''  Why,  mine,  I  sbould  think." 

*^  Could  you  identify  them?" 

*' Certainly,  I  could." 

*^  Are  these  the  jewels  in  question  ?" 

The  old  man  put  on  his  spectacles  and  examined  them 
closely. 

^'They  are;  I  know  every  one  of  them." 

"  They  were  stolen  from   you  ?" 

''  They  were." 

''  On  whose  person,  after  having  been  stolen,  were 
they  found!" 

^^  On  the  person  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

*'  You  swear  that." 

^'I  do;  because  I  saw  him  take  them  out  of  his 
pocket,  in  my  own  house,  after  he  had  been  made 
prisoner  and  detected." 

^'  Then  they  are  your  property  ?" 

^^  Certainly — I  consider  them  my  property ;  who 
else's  property  could  they  be  V 

"  Pray,  is  not  your  daughter  a  minor  ?" 

''  She  is." 

*'  And  a  ward  in  the  Court  of  Chancery!" 

''  Yes  " 

''  That  will  do,  sir." 

The  squire  was  then  about  to  leave  the  table,  when 
Mr.  Fox  addressed  him  :— 

^'  Not  yet,  Mr.  Folliard,  if  you  please ;  you  sweai' 
the  jewels  are  yours  f ' 

^'  I  do  ;  to  whom  else  sliould  they  belong  ?" 

'^  Are  you  of  an  opinion  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
robbed  vou  of  them  ?" 


WILLY    RE  ILLY.  437 

^*  I  found  them  in  In's  possession." 

''Andyouno\v  identify  tliem  as  the  same  jewels 
which  you  found  in  his  possession  f' 

"  Damn  it,  haven't  I  said  so,  before  ?" 

''  Pray,  Mr.  FolHard,  keep  your  temper,  if  you 
please,  and  answer  me  civilly,  and  as  a  gentleman. 
Suffer  me  to  ask  you,  are  tliere  any  other  family  jewels 
in  your  possession  f 

*'Yes,  the  Folliard  jewels  f 

'' The  Folliard  jewels  !  And  how  do  they  differ  in 
denomination  from  those  found  upon  the  prisoner?" 

*'  Those  found  upon  prisonor  are  called  the  Bingliam 
jewels,  from  the  fact  of  my  wife,  who  was  a  Bingham, 
having  brought  them  into  our  family." 

'^  And  pray,  did  not  your  wife  always  consider  those 
jewels  as  her  own  private  property?" 

"Why,  I  beheve  she  did." 

'^  And  did  she  not,  at  her  death-bed,  bequeath  those 
very  jewels  to  her  daughter,  the  present  Miss  Folliard, 
on  the  condition  that  she  too  should  consider  them  as 
her  private  property  ?" 

"  Why,  I  believe  she  did  ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it, 
because  T  was  present  at  tlie  time." 

"In  what  part  of  the  house  were  those  jewels  depos- 
ited ?" 

''  In  a  large  oak  cabinet,  that  stands  in  a  recess  in 
my  library." 

"  Did  you  keep  what  you  called  the  Folliard  jewels 
there  ?" 

*'Yes,  all  our  jewelry  was  kept  there." 

**  But  there  was  no  portion  of  the  Folliard  jewelry 
touched  r 

"  No  ;  but  the  Bingham  sets  were  all  taken,  and  all 
found  upon  the  prisoner." 

"  What  was  your  opinion  of  the  prisoner's  circum- 
stances V 

"I  could  form  no  opinion  about  them." 


4*38  WILLY    RETLLl. 


"  ELid  }io  not  the  reputation  of  being  an  independ- 
ent man  V 

''I  believe  such  was  the  impression." 

^^  In  what  style  of  life  did  he  live  ?" 

^^  Certainly  in  the  style  of  a  gentleman." 

''  Do  3^ou  think,  then,  that  necessity  was  likely  to 
tempt  a  man  of  independence  like  him  to  steal  your 
daughter's  jewels  f ' 

^'  I'd  advise  you,  Sergeant  Fox,  not  to  put  me  out  of 
temper;  I  haven't  much  to  spare  just  now.  What  the 
devil  are  you  at !" 

^'Will  you  answer  my  question?" 

''  No,  I  don't  think  it  was." 

^'  If  the  Bmgham  jewelry  had  been  stolen  by  a  thief, 
do  you  think  that  thief  would  have  left  the  Folliard 
jewelry  behind  him  ?" 

^'  I'll  take  my  oath  you  wouldn't,  if  you  had  been  in 
the  place  of  the  person  who  took  them.  You'd  liave 
put  the  Bingham  jewelry  in  one  pocket,  and  balanced 
it  with  the  Folliard  in  the  other.  But,"  he  added,  after  a 
slight  pause,  '^  the  villain  stole  from  me  a  jewel  more 
valuable  and  dearer  to  her  father's  heart  than  all  the 
jewelry  of  the  universal  world  put  together.  He  stole 
my  child,  my  only  child ;"  and  as  he  spoke  the  tears  ran 
slowly  down  his  cheeks.  The  court  and  spectators 
were  touched  by  this,  and  Fox  felt  that  it  was  a  point 
against  them.  Even  he  himself  was  touched,  and 
saw  that,  with  respect  to  Eeilly's  safety,  the  sooner  he 
got  rid  of  the  old  man,  for  the  -present  at  least,  the 
better. 

''  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  he,  '^  you  may  withdraw  now. 
Your  daughter  loved,  as  what  woman  has  not!  There 
stands  the  object  of  her  affections,  and  I  appeal  toyour 
own  feelings  whether  any  living  woman  could  be 
blamed  for  loving  such  a  man.  You  may  go  down,  sir  ; 
but  we  will  probably  want  you  again." 

The  prosecuting  counsel  then  said  :     ^'  My  lord,  we 


WILLV     REILLY.  439 

produce  Miss  Folliard  lierself,  to  bear  testimony  against 
this  man.     Crier,  let  Helen  Folliard  be  called." 

Now  was  the  moment  of  intense  and  incredible  in^ 
terest.  There  was  the  far-famed  beauty  herself,  to  ap» 
pear  against  her  manly  lover.  The  stir  in  the  court^ 
the  expectation,  the  anxiety  to  see  her,  the  stretching 
of  necks,  the  pressure  of  one  over  another,  the  fervor  of 
curiosity,  were  such  as  the  reader  may  possibly  con-- 
ceive,  but  such  certainly  as  we  cannot  attempt  to  de^ 
scribe.  She  advanced  from  a  side  door,  deeply  veiled  •, 
but  the  tall  and  majestic  elegance  of  her  figure  not  only 
struck  all  hearts  with  admiration,  but  prepared  them 
for  the  inexpressible  beauty  with  which  the  whole  king- 
dom rang.  She  was  assisted  to  the  table,  and  helped 
into  the  witness's  chair  by  her  father,  who  seemed  to  tri- 
umph in  her  appearance  there.  On  taking  her  seat, 
the  buzz  and  murmur  of  the  spectators  became  hushed 
into  a  silence  like  that  of  death,  until  she  spoke,  a 
feather  might  have  been  heard  falling  in  the  court. 

'^Miss  Folliard,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  most  respectful 
voice,  "  you  are  deeply  veiled — but  perhaps  you  are 
not  aware  that,  in  order  to  give  evidence  in  a  court  of 
justice,  your  veil  should  be  put  up  j  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  raise  it!" 

Deliberately  and  slowly  she  raised  it,  as  the  court 
had  desired  her ;  but,  0  great  God,  what  an  effulgence 
of  beauty,  what  wonderful  brilliancy,  what  symmetr}-, 
what  radiance,  what  tenderness,  what  expression  ! 

But  we  feel  that  to  attempt  the  description  of  that 
face,  which  almost  had  divinity  stamped  upon  it,  is  be- 
yond all  our  powers.  The  whole  court,  every  spec- 
tator, man  and  woman,  all  for  a  time  were  mute,  whilst 
their  hearts  drank  in  the  delicious  draught  of  admira- 
tion which  such  beauty  created.  After  having  raised 
her  veil,  she  looked  around  the  court  with  a  kind  of 
wonder,  after  which  her  eyes  rested  on  Reilly,  and  im- 
mediately her  lids  dropped,  for  she  feared  that  she  had 


440  WILLY    REILLY. 

done  wrong  in  looking  upon  him.  This  made  many 
of  those  hearts  who  were  interested  in  his  fate  sink, 
and  wonder  wliy  sucli  treachery  should  be  associated 
with  features  that  breathed  only  of  angelic  goodness 
and  humanity. 

''Miss  FoUiard,"  said  the  leading  counsel  engaged 
against  Keilly,  "  I  am  happy  to  hear  that  you  regret 
some  past  occurrences  that  took  place  with  respect  to 
you  and  the  prisoner  at  the  bar !" 

''  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  was  melody  it- 
self, ^'  I  do  regret  them." 

Fox  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  her,  after  which  he 
whispered  something  to  one  or  two  of  his  brother  law- 
yers ;  that  shook  their  heads,  and  immediately  set 
themselves  to  hear  and  note  her  examination. 

"  Miss  FolHard,  }'ou  are  aware  of  the  charges  which 
have  placed  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  of  justice  and  his 
country  I" 

''  Not  exactly  ;  I  have  heard  little  of  it,  beyond  the 
fact  of  his  incarceration." 

''  He  stands  here  charged  with  two  very  heinous 
crimes ;  the  theft  or  robbery  of  a  valuable  packet  of 
jewels,  your  father's  property." 

"  O,  no,"  she  replied;  ''  they  are  my  own  exclusive 
property — not  my  father's.  They  were  the  property 
of  my  dear  mother,  wdio,  on  her  death-bed,  bequeathed 
them  to  me,  in  the  presence  of  my  father  himself;  and 
I  always  considered  them  as  mine." 

''  But  they  w^ere  found  upon  the  person  of  the  pris- 
oner r 

""  0,  yes  ;  but  that  is  very  easily  explained.  It  is  no 
secret  now,  that  in  order  to  avoid  a  marriage  which  my 
father  was  forcing  on  me  with  Sir  Robert  Whitecraft, 
I  chose  the  less  evil,  and  eloped  with  Mr.  Reilly.  If  I 
had  not  eloped  with  him,  I  should  have  committed  sui- 
cide, I  think,  rather  than  marry  Whitecraft — a  man  so 
utterly    devoid    of  principle  and  delicacy,  that  he  sent 


WILLY    KEILLY.  441 

an  abandoned  female  into  my  father's  house,  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  my  maid,  and  also  as  a  spy  upon  my  con- 
duct" 

This  astounding  fact  created  an  immense  sensation 
tlu'oughout  the  court,  and  the  lawyer  who  was  exam- 
ining her  began  to  feel  that  her  object  in  coming  there 
was  to  oive  evidence  in  favor  of  Reilly,  and  not  against 
him.  He  determined,  however,  to  try  her  a  little  fur- 
ther, and  proceeded  : — 

"  But  Miss  Folliard,  how  do  you  account  for  the 
fact  of  the  Bingham  jewels  being  found  upon  the  per- 
son of  the  prisoner  f 

"'  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  replied. 
^*  I  brought  my  own  jewels  with  me,  and  finding  as  w^e 
proceeded,  that  I  was  likely  to  lose  them,  having  no 
pocket  sufficiently  safe  in  which  to  carry  them,  I  asked 
Reilly  to  take  charge  of  them,  which  he  did.  Our  un- 
expected capture,  and  the  consequent  agitation,  pre- 
vented him  from  returning  them  to  me,  and  they  were 
accordingly  found  upon  his  person  ;  but  as  for  stealing 
them,  he  is  just  as  guilty  as  his  lordship  on  the  bench.  " 

'^  Miss  Folliard,  "  proceeded  the  lawyer,  "  3-ou  have 
taken  us  by  surprise  to-day.  How  does  it  happen  that 
you  volunteered  your  evidence  against  the  prisoner, 
and  now  that  you  have  come  forward,  every  word  you 
utter  is  in  his  favor  ?  Your  mind  must  have  recently 
changed — a  fact  which  takes  very  much  away  from  the 
force  of  that  evidence." 

''I  pray  you,  sir,  to  understand  me  and  not  to  suf- 
fer yourself  to  be  misled.  I  never  stated  that  I  was 
about  to  come  here  to  give  evidence  against  Mr.  Reilly  ; 
but  I  said,  when  strongly  pressed  to  come,  that  I  ivoidd 
come,  and  see  justice  done.  Had  they  asked  me  my 
meaning,  I  would  have  instantly  told  them  ;  because, 
I  trust,  I  am  incapable  of  falsehood  ;  and  I  will  say 
now,  tiiat  if  my  life  could  obtain  that  of  William 
Reilly,  I  would  lay  it  willingly  down  for  him,  as  I  am 


442  WILLY    REILLY. 

certain  he  would  lay  down  his  for  the  preservation  of 
mine." 

There  was  a  pause  here,  and  a  murmur  of  approba- 
tion ran  through  the  court.  The  opposing  counsel, 
too,  found  that  they  had  been  led  astray,  and  that  to 
examine  her  any  further  would  be  only  a  weakening 
of  their  own  cause.  They  attached,  however,  no  blame 
of  insincerity  to  her,  but  visited  with  much  bitterness 
the  unexpected  capsize  which  they  had  got,  on  the 
stupid  head  of  Doldrum,  their  attorney.  They  conse- 
quently determined  to  ask  her  no  more  questions,  and 
she  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Fox  rose  up  and 
said : — 

''  Miss  FolHard,  I  am  counsel  for  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  and  I  trust  you  will  answer  me  a  few  questions. 
I  perceive,  madam,  that  you  are  fatigued  of  this  scene  ; 
but  the  questions  I  will  put  to  you  shall  be  few  and 
brief  An  attachment  has  existed  for  some  time  be- 
tween you  and  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  I  You  need  not 
be  ashamed,  madam,  to  reply  to  it." 

"I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  replied,  proudly;  '*  and 
it  is  true." 

^'  Was  your  father  aware  of  that  attachment,  at  any 
time  r 

*'  He  was,  from  a  very  early  period." 

^^  Pray,  how  did  he  discover  it  V 

^'  I  myself  told  him  of  my  love  for  Reilly,  who  had 
saved  his  live." 

^'  Did  your  lather  give  his  consent  to  that  attach- 
ment." 

"Conditionally  he  did." 

"  And  pray,  Miss  Folliard,  what  were  the  condi- 
tions!" 

"  That  Reilly  should  abjure  his  creed,  and  then  no 
further  obstacle  should  stand  in  the  way  of  our  union, 
he  said." 

*^  Was  ever  that  proposal  mentioned  to  Reilly  ?" 


WILLY    REILLY.  443 

**  Yes,  I  mentioned  it  to  liim  myself;  but  well  r.s  lie 
loved  me,  he  would  suffer  to  go  into  an  early  grave,  be 
said,  sooner  tlian  abandon  bis  religion  ;  and  I  loved  bim  a 
thousand  times  the  better  for  his  noble  adherence  to  it." 

"  Bid  lie  not  save  your  father's  life  f " 

''  lie  did,  and  the  life  of  a  faithful  and  attached  old  ser- 
vant at  the  same  timer 

Now,  although  this  fact  was  generally  known,  yet 
the  statement  of  it  here  occasioned  a  strong  expression 
of  indignation  against  the  man  who  could  come  for- 
ward and  prosecute  the  individual,  to  whose  courage 
and  gallantry  he  stood  indebted  for  his  escape  from 
murder.  The  uncertainty  of  Folliard's  character,  how- 
ever, was  so  well  known,  and  his  whimsical  changes  oi 
opinion  such  a  matter  of  proverb  among  the  people, 
that  many  persons  said  to  each  other: — 

"  The  cracked  old  squire  is  in  one  of  his  tantrums  now  ; 
he'll  be  a  proud  man  if  he  can  convict  Reilly  to-day; 
and  perhaps  to-morrow,  or  in  a  montli  hence,  he'll  be 
cursing  himself  for  what  he  did ;  for  that's  his  way." 

''Well,  Miss  Folliard,"  said  Fox,  "we  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer;  this  to  you  must  be  a  painful  scene; 
you  may  retire,  madam." 

She  did  not  immediately  withdraw  ;  but  taking  a  green 
silk  purse  out  of  her  bosom,  she  opened  it,  and  after  in- 
serting her  long  white  taper  fingers  into  it,  she  brought 
out  a  valuable  emerald  ring,  and  placing  it  in  the  hands 
of  the  crier,  she  said : 

"  Give  that  ring  to  the  prisoner;  I  know  not,  Wib 
Ham,"  she  added,  "whether  I  shall  ever  see  you  again 
or  not.  It  may  so  happen  that  this  is  the  last  time  my 
eyes  can  ever  rest  upon  ^"ou  with  love  and  sorrow." 
Here  a  few  bright  tears  fell  down  her  lovely  cheeks. 
"If  you  should  be  sent  to  a  far-off  land,  wear  this  for 
the  sake  of  her  who  appi'eciated  your  virtues,  your  no- 
ble spirit,  and  your  pure  and  disinterested  love ;  look 
upon  it  when,  perhaps,  the  Atlantic  may  roll  between 


444  WILLY   5EILLY. 

US,  and  when  you  do,  think  of  your  Coleen  Bawn,  and 
the  love  she  bore  you ;  but  if  a  still  unhappier  fate  should 
be  yours,  let  it  be  placed  with  you  in  your  grave,  and 
next  that  heart,  that  noble  heart,  that  refused  to  sacri- 
fice your  honor,  your  religion  even  to  your  love  for  me. 
I  will  now  go." 

There  is  nothing  so  brave  and  fearless  as  innocence. 
Her  youth,  the  majesty  of  her  beauty,  and  the  pathos  of 
her  expressions,  absolutely  flooded  the  court  with  tears. 
The  judge  wept,  and  hardened  old  barristers,  with  hearts 
like  the  nether  millstone,  were  forced  to  put  their  hand- 
kerchiefs to  their  eyes  ;  but  as  they  felt  that  it  might  be 
detrimental  to  their  professional  characters  to  be  caught 
weeping,  they  shaded  off  the  pathos  under  the  hypo- 
critical pretense  of  blowing  their  noses.  The  sobs  from 
the  ladies  in  tlie  gallery  were  loud  and  vehement,  and 
Reilly  himself  was  so  deeeply  moved  that  he  felt  obhg- 
ed  to  put  his  face  upon  his  hands,  as  he  bent  over  the 
bar,  in  order  to  conceal  his  emotion.  He  received  the 
rino-  with  moist  eyes,  kissed  it,  and  placed  it  in  a  small 
locket,  which  he  put  in  his  bosom. 

''Now/'  said  the  Cohen  Bawn,  "  I  am  ready  to  go." 
She  was  then  conducted  to  the  room  to  which  we 
have  alluded,  where  she  met  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Hast- 
ings, both  of  whom  she  found  in  tears  ;  for  they  had 
been  in  the  gallery,  and  witnessed  all  that  had  happened. 
They  both  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  attempted  to 
console  her  as  well  as  they  could ;  but  a  weight  like 
death,  she  said,  pressed  upon  her  heart,  and  she  begged 
them  not  to  distract  her  by  their  sympathy,  kind  and 
generous  as  she  felt  it  to  be ;  but  to  allow  her  to  sit  and 
nurture  her  own  thoughts,  until  she  could  hear  the  ver- 
dict of  the  jury.  Mrs.  Hastings  returned  to  the  gallery, 
and  arrived  there  in  time  to  hear  the  touching  and  brilliant 
speech  of  Fox,  which  we  are  not  presumptuous  enough 
to  imagine,  mucli  less  to  stultify  ourselves  by  attempting 
to  give.    He  dashed  the  charge  of  Reilly's  theft  of  the 


WILLY   REILLY.  4  15 

jewels  to  pieces — not  a  difficult  task,  after  the  evidence 
that  had  been  given  ;  and  then  dwelt  upon  the  loves  of 
this  celebrated  pair  with  such  force  and  eloquence  and 
patlios,  that  the  court  was  once  more  melted  into  tears. 
The  closing  speech,  by  the  leading  counsel  against 
Reilly,  was  bitter  ;  but  the  gist  of  it  turned  upon  the 
fact  of  his  having  eloped  with  a  ward  of  Chancery,  con- 
trary to  law  ;  and  he  informed  the  jury  that  no  affection, 
no  consent  upon  the  part  of  any  lady  under  age,  was 
either  a  justification  of  or  a  protection  against,  such  an 
abduction  as  that  of  which  Reilly  had  been  guilty. 
The  state  of  the  law  at  the  present  time,  he  assured 
them,  rendered  it  a  felony  to  marry  a  Catholic  and  a 
Protestant  together ;  and  he  then  left  the  case  in  the 
hands,  he  said,  of  an  honest  Protestant  jury. 

The  judge's  charge  was  brief.  He  told  the  jury  that 
they  could  not  convict  the  prisoner  on  the  imputed  fel- 
ony of  the  jewels  ;  but  that  the  proof  of  his  having  tak- 
en away  Miss  FolHard  from  her  father's  house,  with — as 
the  law  stood — her  felonious  abduction  for  the  purpose 
of  inveigling  her  into  an  unlawful  marriage  with  him- 
self, was  the  subject  for  their  consideration.  Even  had 
he  been  a-Protestant,  the  law  could  afford  him  no  pro- 
tection in  the  eye  of  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

The  jury  retired  ;  but  their  absence  from  their  box  was 
very  brief  Unfortunately,  their  foreman  was  cursed 
with  a  dreadful  hesitation  in  his  speech,  and,  as  he  en- 
tered, the  Clerk  of  the  Crown  said — 

'*  AYell,  gentlemen,  have  you  agreed  in  your  verdict  f  ^ 

There  was  a  solemn  silence,  during  which  nothing  was 
heard  but  a  convulsive  working  about  the  chest  and 
glottis  of  the  foreman,  who  at  length  said  : — 

«'  We— »we — we — we  hove." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

Here  the  internal  but  obstructed  machinery  of  the 
chest  and  throat  set  to  work  again,  and  at  last  the  fore- 
man was  able  to  get  out — ''  Guilty." 


446  WILLY     REILLY. 

Mrs.  Hastings  had  heard  enough,  and  too  much ;  and,  as 
the  sentence  was  pronounced,  she  instantly  withdrew  ; 
but  how  to  convey  tlie  melancholy  tidings  to  the  Cohen 
Baivn  she  knew  not.  In  the  meantime,  the  foreman, 
who  had  not  fully  delivered  himself  of  the  verdict,  added, 
after  two  or  three  desperate  hickups —  '^  on  the  second 
count  P 

This,  if  the  foreman  had  not  labored  under  such  an 
extraordinary  hesitation,  might  have  prevented  much  suf- 
fering, and  many  years  of  unconscious  calamity  to  one 
of  the  unhappy  parties  of  whom  we  are  writing,  inasmuch 
as  the  felony  of  the  jewels  would  have  been  death, 
whilst  the  elopement  with  a  ward  of  Chancery  was 
only  transportation. 

When  Mrs.  Hastings  entered  the  room  where  the  Col- 
een  Baivn  was  awaiting  the  verdict  with  a  dreadful  in- 
tensity of  feeling,  the  latter  rose  up,  and,  throwing  her 
arms  about  her  neck,  looked  into  her  face,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  eagerness  and  wildness,  which  Mrs.  Hastings 
thought  might  be  best  allayed  by  knowing  the  worst ; 
as  the  heart,  in  such  circumstances,  generally  collects 
itself,  and  falls  back  upon  its  own  resources. 

''Well,  Mrs.  Hastings,  well— the  verdict!" 

''  Collect  yourself,  my  child — be  firm — be  a  woman. 
Collect  yourself — for  you  require  it.  The  verdict  is 
—Guilty  !" 

The  Coleen  Bawn  did  not  faint,  nor  become  weak ; 
but  she  put  her  fair  white  hand  to  her  forehead,  then 
looked  around  the  room,  then  upon  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
lastly  upon  Mrs.  Hastings.  They  also  looked  upon 
her.  God  help  both  her  and  them !  Yes,  they  looked 
upon  her  countenance — that  lovely  countenance — and 
then  into  her  eyes — those  eyes  !  But,  alas  !  where  was 
their  beauty  now  ?     Where  their  expression  ? 

''  Miss  Folliard  !  my  darling  Helen  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Hastings,  in  tears;  ''great  God,  what  is  this,  Mrs. 
Brown !     Come  here  and  look  at  her." 


WILLY    REILLY.  447 

Mrs.  Frown,  on  looking  at  her,  whispered,  in  chok- 
ing accents,  ''  0  my  God,  the  child's  reason  is  over- 
turned ;  what  is  tliere  now  in  those  once  glorious  eyes 
but  vacancy  ?  0  that  I  had  never  lived  to  see  this 
awful  day.  Helen,  the  treasure,  the  delight  of  all  who 
ever  knew  you,  what  is  wrong  I  0  speak  to  us — rec- 
ognize us — your  own  two  best  friends — Helen — Helen ! 
Speak  to  us." 

She  looked  upon  them  certainly ;  but  it  was  with  a 
dead  and  vacant  stare  which  wrung  their  hearts. 

'^  Come,"  said  she,  '^  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  ? 
O  bring  me  to  William  Reilly ;  they  have  taken  me 
from  him,  and  I  know  not  where  to  find  him." 

The  two  kind-hearted  ladies  looked  at  one  another, 
each  stupefied  by  the  mystery  of  what  they  witnessed. 

''Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings,  "her  father  must  be  in- 
stantly sent  for ;  Mrs.  Brown,  go  to  the  lobby — there  is  an 
officer  there—  desire  him  to  go  to  Mr.  Folliard  and  say 
that — but  we  had  better  not  alarm  him  too  much,"  she 
added,  "  say  that  Miss  Folliard  wishes  to  see  him  im- 
mediately. " 

The  judge,  we  may  observe  here,  had  not  yet  pro- 
nounced sentence  upon  Reilly.  The  old  man,  who,  un- 
der all  possible  circumstances,  was  so  affectionately  de- 
voted and  attentive  to  his  daughter,  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  the  room,  in  a  state  of  great  triumph  and 
exultation,  exclaiming,  "  Guilty,  guilty  ;  we  have  noos- 
ed him  at  last."  He  even  snapped  his  fingers,  and  danced 
about  for  a  time,  until  rebuked  by  Mrs.  Hastings. 

"  Unhappy  and  miserable  old  man,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  tears,  "  what  have  you  done?  Look  at  tlie  con- 
dition of  your  only  child,  whom  you  have  murdered. 
She  is  now  a  maniac." 

''  What,"  he  exclaimed,  rushing  to  her,  "  what,  what 
is  this  I     What  do  you  mean?     Helen,  my  darling,  my 
child — my  delight — what  is  wrong  with  you  !     Recol 
lect  yourself,  my  dearest  treasure.     Do  you  not  know 


448  WILLY    REILLY. 

me,  your  own  father  ?  0  Helen,  Helen  !  for  the  love 
of  God,  speak  to  me  !  Say  you  know  me — call  me 
father — rouse  yourself — recollect  me — don't  you  know 
who  I  am  ?" 

There,  however,  was  the  frightfully  vacant  glance, 
,  but  no  reply. 

^'  O,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  calm  voice,  ''  where  is  Wil- 
liam Reilly  ?  They  have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I 
cannot  find  him  ;  bring  me  to  William  Reilly." 

'*  Don't  you  know  me,  Helen  ?  don't  you  know  your 
loving  father!  0  speak  to  me,  child  of  my  heart,  speak 
but  one  word  as  a  proof  that  you  know  me." 

She  looked  on  him,  but  that  look  filled  his  heart  with 
unutterable  anguish  ;  he  clasped  her  to  that  heart,  he 
kissed  her  lips,  he  strove  to  soothe  and  console  her — but 
in  vain.  There  was  the  vacant  but  unsettled  eve,  from 
which  the  bright  expression  of  reason  was  gone  ;  but  no 
recognition — no  spark  of  reflection  or  conscious  thought 
— notliiiig  but  the  melancholy  inquiry  from  those  beau- 
tiful lips  of — ^'  Where's  William  .Reilly  ?  They  have 
taken  me  from  him — and  will  not  allow  me  to  see  him. 
O  bring  me  to  William  Reilly." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  the  father's  misery 
and  distraction ;  but,  from  all  our  readers  have  learned 
of  his  extraordinary  tenderness  and  affection  for  that 
good  and  lovely  daughter,  they  may  judge  of  what  he 
suffered.  He  immediately  ordered  his  carriage,  and 
j  had  barely  time  to  hear  that  Reilly  had  been  sentenced 
to  transportation  for  seven  years.  His  daughter  was 
'  quite  meek  and  tractable  ;  she  spoke  not,  nor  could  any 
ingenuity  on  their  part  extract  the  slightest  reply  from 
her.  Neither  did  she  shed  a  single  tear,  but  the  vacant 
light  of  her  eyes  had  stamped  a  fatuitous  expression  on 
her  features  that  was  melancholy  and  heartbreaking, 
beyond  all  power  of  language  to  describe. 

No  other  person  had  seen  her  since  the  bereavement 
of  her  reason,  except  the  officer  who  kept  guard  on  the 


WILLY    REILLY.  449 

lobby,  and  who,  in  the  luiny  and  distraction  on  tlie 
moment,  liad  been  despatched  by  Mrs.  Brown  for  a 
glass  of  cold  water.  Her  father's  ravings,  however,  in 
the  man's  presence,  added  to  his  own  observation  and 
the  distress  of  her  female  friends,  were  quite  sufficient 
to  satisfy  him  of  the  nature  of  her  complaint,  and  in 
less  than  half  an  hour  it  was  through  the  whole  court- 
house, and  the  town  besides — that  the  Coleen  Bawn 
had  gone  mad  on  hearing  the  sentence  that  was  passed 
upon  her  lover.  Her  two  friends  accompanied  her 
home,  and  remained  with  her  for  the  night. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  conclusion  of  the    trial  of 
Willy  Reilly  ;   but  even  taking  it  at  its  worst,  it  invol- 
ved a  very  different  fate  from  that  of  his  vindictive 
rival,  Whitecraft.  It  appeared  that  that  worthy  gentle- 
man and  the  Red  Rapparee  had  been  sentenced  to  die  on 
the  same  day  and  at  the  same  hour.   It  is  true,  Whitecraft 
was  aware   that  a  deputation  had  gone  post-haste  to 
Dublin  Castle,  to  solicit  his  pardon,   or  at  least    some 
lenient  commutation  of  punishment.     Still,  it  was  fear- 
ed that,  owing  to  the  dreadful  state  of  the  roads,  and 
the  slow  mode  of  travelling  at  that  period,  there  was  a 
probability  that  the  pardon  might  not  arrive  in  time  to 
be  available  ;  and  indeed  there  was  every  reason  to  ajD- 
prehend  as  much.    The  day  appointed  for  the  execution 
of  the  Red  Raj)paree  and  him  arrived — nay,  the  very 
hour  had  coiiae  ;  but  still  their  was  hope  among  his 
friends.     The  sheriff,  a  firm,   but  fair  and  reasonable 
man,  waited  beyond  the  time  named  by  the  judge  for 
his  execution.     At  length  he  felt  the  necessity  of  dis- 
charging his  duty  ;  for  although  more  than  an  hour  be- 
yond the  appointed  period  had  now  elapsed,  yet  this 
delay  proceeded  from  no  personal  regard  he  entertain- 
ed for  the  felon,  but  from  respect  for    many    of  those 
who  had  interested  themselves  in  his  fate. 

At  length  the  sheriff  felt  himself  called  upon  to  order 
both  the  Rapparee  and  the  baronet  for  execution.     In 


450  WILLY    KETLI.f. 

Waiting  so  long  for  a  pardon,  he  felt  that  he  had  trans- 
gressed his  duty,  and  he  accordhigly  ordered  thein  out 
for  the  last  ceremony.  The  hardened  Rapparee  died 
sullen  and  silent;  the  only  regret  he  expressed  being 
that  he  could  not  live  to  see  his  old  friend  turned  off 
before  him. 

'^  Troth,"  replied  the  hangman,  ''only  that  the 
sheriff  has  ordhered  me  to  hang  you  first,  as  bein'  the 
betther  man,  I  would  give  you  that  same  satisfaction  ; 
but,  if  you're  not  in  a  very  great  hurry  to  the  warm 
corner,  you're  goin'  to,  and  if  you  will  just  take  your 
time  for  a  few  minutes,  I'll  engage  to  say  you  will  soon 
have  company.  God  speed  you,  any  way,"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  turned  him  off;  "only  take  your  time 
and  wait  for  your  neighbors.  Now,.  Sir  Eobert,"  said 
he,  "  turn  about,  they  say,  is  fair  play — it's  your  turn 
now  ;  but  you  look  unbecomin'  upon  it.  Hould  up 
your  head,  man,  and  don't  be  cast  down.  You'll  have 
company  where  you're  goin' ;  for  the  Red  Rapparee 
tould  me  to  tell  you  that  he'd  wait  for  you.  Hallo  I — 
what's  that !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  cast  his  eye  to  the 
distance,  and  discovered  a  horseman  riding  for  life, 
with  a  wdiite  handkerchief  or  flag  of  some  kind  float- 
ing in  the  breeze.  The  elevated  position  in  which  the 
executioner  was  placed  enabled  him  to  see  the  signal 
before  it  could  be  perceived  by  the  crowd.  "Come, 
Sir  Robert,"  said  he,  "  stand  v/here  I'll  place  you— 
there's  no  use  of  asking  you  to  hould  up  your  head  , 
for  you're  not  able ;  but  listen.  You  hanged  my 
brother  that  you  knew  to  be  innocent ;  and  now  I 
hang  you  that  I  know  to  be  guilty.  Yes,  I  hang  you, 
with  the  white  flag  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  pardon 
for  you  wavin'  in  the  distance ;  and  listen  again — 
Eememher  Willy  BeiUy ;"  and  with  these  words,  he 
launched  him  into  eternity. 

The  uproar  among  his  friends  was  immense,  as  was  the 
cheering  from  the  general  crowd,  at  the  just  fate  of  this 


WILLY     REILLY.  451 

bad  man.  The  former  rushed  to  tlie  gallows,  in  order 
to  cut  him  down,  with  a  hope  that  life  might  still  be  in 
him ;  a  process  which  the  sheriff,  after  perusing  his 
pardon,  permitted  them  to  carry  into  effect.  The  body 
was  accordingly  taken  into  the  prison,  and  a  surgeon 
procured  to  examine  it ;  but  altogetlier  in  vain ;  his  hour 
had  gone  by,  life  was  extinct,  and  all  the  honor  they 
could  now  pay  Sir  Robert  Wliitecraft  was  to  give  him  a 
pompous  funeral,  and  declare  him  a  martyr  to  Popery — 
botli  of  which  they  did. 

The  history  of  the  Coleen  Bawn^s  melancholy  fate 
soon  went  far  and  near,  and  many  an  eye  that  had 
never  rested  on  her  beauty  gave  its  tribute  of  tears  to  her 
undeserved  sorrows.  There  existed,  however,  one  in- 
dividual who  was  the  object  of  almost  as  deep  a  compas- 
sion ;  this  was  her  father,  who  was  consumed  by  the 
bitterest  and  most  profound  remorse.  His  whole  char- 
acter became  changed  by  this  terrible  and  unexpected 
shock,  by  w^hich  his  beautiful  and  angelic  daughter  had 
been  blasted  before  his  eyes.  He  was  no  longer  the 
boisterous  and  convivial  old  squire,  changeful  and  un- 
settled in  all  his  opinions,  but  silent,  quiet,  and  ob- 
str acted  almost  from  life. 

He  wept  incessantly,  but  his  tears  did  not  bring 
him  comfort,  for  they  were  tears  of  anguish  and  despair. 
Ten  times  a  day  he  would  proceed  to  her  chamber,  or 
follow  her  to  the  garden  where  she  loved  to  walk,  al- 
ways in  the  delusive  hope  that  he  might  catch  some 
spark  of  returning  reason  from  those  calm-looking  but 
meaningless  eyes  :  after  which,  he  would  weep  like  a 
child.  As  for  his  daughter,  everything  was  done  for 
her  that  wealth  and  human  means  could  accomplish,  but 
to  no  purpose ;  the  malady  was  too  deeply  seated  to  be 
affected  by  any  known  remedy,  whether  moral  or  phys- 
ical. From  the  moment  she  was  struck  into  insanity, 
she  was  never  known  to  smile  or  speak,  unless  when 
she  chanced  to  see  a  stranger,  upoii  which  she  immedi- 


452  WILLY  REILLY. 

ately  approached,  and   asked    with    clasped  hands : — 

'^  O  can  you  tell  me  where  is  WiUiam  Reilly ! 
They  have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him? 
O  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  T 

These  were  the  only  words  she  was  known  to  utter, 
/  and  no  stranger  ever  came  in  her  way  to  whom  she  did 
not  repeat  them.  In  this  way  her  father  and  she  passed 
through  a  melancholy  existence  for  better  than  six 
years,  when  a  young  physician  of  great  promise  hap- 
pened to  settle  in  the  town  of  Sligo,  and  her  father 
having  heard  of  it  had  him  immediately  called  in. 
After  looking  at  her,  however,  he  found  himself  ac- 
costed in  the  same  terms  we  have  already  given  : — 

*'  0  can  you  tell  me  where  is  WilHam  Reilly  I" 

^'  William  Reilly  will  soon  be  with  you,"  he  replied ; 
"  he  will  soon  be  here." 

A  start,  barely, scarcely  perceptible, was  noticed  by  the 
keen  eye  of  the  physician  ;  but  it  passed  away,  and 
left  nothing  but  that  fixed  and  beautiful  vacancy  be- 
hind it. 

^'Sir,"  said  the  physician,  *'  I  do  not  absolutely  de- 
spair of  Miss  Folliard's  recovery  ;  the  influence  of  some 
deep  excitement,  if  it  could  be  made  accessible,  might 
produce  a  good  eff'ect ;  it  was  by  a  shock  it  came  upon 
her,  and  I  am  of  opinion,  that  if  she  ever  does  recover, 
it  will  be  by  something  similar  to  that  which  induced 
her  pitiable  malady. 

"  I  will  give  a  thousand  pounds — five  thousand — ten 
thousand,  to  any  man  who  will  be  fortunate  enough  to 
restore  her  to  reason,"  said  her  father. 

*'One  course,"  proceeded  the  physician,  '^  I  would 
recommend  you  to  pursue ;  bring  her  about  as  much 
as  you  can  ;  give  her  variety  of  scenery  and  variety 
of  new  faces;  visit  your  friends,  and  bring  her  with 
3^ou.  This  course  may  have  some  effect ;  as  for  medi- 
cine, it  is  of  no  use  here,  for  her  health  is  in  every 
other  respect  good." 


WILLY     REILLY.  453 

He  then  took  his  leave,  liaving  first  received  a  fee 
which  somewliat  astonished  him. 

His  advice,  however,  was  followed  ;  her  father  and 
she,  during  the  summer  and  autumn  months,  visited 
among  their  acquaintances  and  friends,  by  whom  they 
were  treated  with  the  greatest  and  most  considerate 
kindness  ;  but  as  far  as  poor  Helen  was  concerned,  no 
symptoms  of  any  salutary  change  became  visible  ;  the 
long  dull  blank  of  departed  reason  was  still  unbroken. 


Better  than  seven  years  and  a  half  had  now  elapsed, 
when  she  and  her  father  came  by  invitation  to  pay  a 
visit  to  a  Mr.  Hamilton,  grandfather  to  the  late  Dacre 
Hamilton  of  Monaghan,  who — the  grandfather,  we 
mean — was  one  of  the  most  notorious  priest-hunters  of 
his  day.  Old  FoUiard  was  riding  out  with  his  friend, 
for  he  was  now  so  much  debilitated  as  to  be  scarcely 
able  to  walk  abroad  for  any  distance,  when  about  the 
hour  of  two  o'clock,  a  man  in  the  garb,  and.  with  all 
the  bearing  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  knocked  at  the  door, 
and  inquired  of  the  servant  who  opened  it  whether 
Miss  Folliard  was  not  there  ;  the  servant  replied  in  the 
affirmative,  upon  which  the  stranger  asked  if  he  could 
see  her. 

"Why,  I  suppose  you  must  be  aware,  sir,  of  Miss 
FolHard's  unfortunate  state  of  mind,  and  that  she  can  see 
nobody;  sir,  she  knows  nobody,  and  I  have  strict 
orders  to  deny  her  to  every  one,  unless  some  particular 
friend  of  the  family." 

The  stranger  put  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  added, 
'  ^  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  before  she  lost  her 
reason,  and  as  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  I  should  be 
glad  to  see  her  now,  or  even  to  look  at  her  for  a  few 
minutes." 

^' Come  up,   sir,  "replied  the  man,    "  and  enter  the 


454  WILLY    REILLY. 

drawing-room  immediately  after  me,  or  I  shall  be  order- 
ed to  deny  her." 

The  gentleman  followed  him  ;  but  why  did  his  cheek 
become  pale,  and  why  did  his  heart  palpitate  as  if  ft 
would  bm^st  and  bound  out  of  his  bosom  I  We  shall  see- 
On  entering  the  drawing-room,  he  bowed,  and  was 
about  to  apologize  for  his  intrusion,  when  the  CoJeeit 
BmvUy  recognizing  him  as  a  stranger,  approached  him 
and  said : — 

*'  O  can  you  tell  me  where  is  William  Reilly  I  they 
have  taken  me  from  him,  and  I  cannot  find  him.  O 
can  you  tell  me  anything  about  William  Reilly  f 

The  stranger  staggered  at  this  miserable  sight,  but 
probable  more  at  the  contemplation  of  that  love  v.diich 
not  even  insanity  could  subdue.  He  felt  him  self  oblig- 
ed to  lean  for  support  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  during 
which  brief  space  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  with  a 
look  of  the  most  inexpressible  tenderness  and  sorrow. 

''0,"she  repeated,  "  can  ^oj(  tell  me  where  is  William 
Reilly?" 

''  Alas  !  Helen,"  he  said,  ''  I  am  WilHam  Reilly." 

^'  You,"  she  exclaimed,  "  0  no  ;  the  wide,  wdde  At- 
lantic is  between  him  and  me." 

''  It  was  between  us,  Helen,  but  it  is  not  now  ;  I  am 
here  in  life  before  you — your  own  William  Reilly  ;  that 
William  Reilly  whom  you  loved  so  well,  but  so  fatally ; 
I  am  he ;   do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

"  You  are  not  William  Reilly,"  she  replied;  ''  if  you 
were,  you  would  have  a  token." 

"  Do  you  foi'get  that  f  he  replied,  placing  in  her 
hand  the  emerald  rino;  she  had  g-iven  him  at  the  trial. 
She  started  on  looking  at  it,  and  a  feeble  flash  was 
observed  to  proceed  from  her  eyes. 

*'This  might  come  to  you,"  she  said,  ''byReilly's 
death;  yes,  this  might  come  to  3'Ou  in  that  way;  but 
there  is  another  token,  which  is  knowm  to  none  but 
himself  and  me. 


WILI-V    RE  ILLY.  455 

**  Whisper,'*  said  lie,  and  as  he  spoke  h.3  applied  his 
mouth  to  her  ear,  and  breathed  the  token  into  it.  She 
stood  back,  her  eves  flashed,  her  beautiful  bosom  heav- 
ed, she  advanced,  looked  once  more,  and  exclaimed 
with  a  scream,  "  It  is  he  !'^  and  the  next  moment  she 
was  insensible,  in  his  arms.  Long  but  precious  was 
tliat  insensibility,  and  precious  were  the  tears  wdiich 
his  eyes  rained  down  upon  that  pale  but  lovely  count- 
enance. She  was  soon  placed  upon  a  settee,  but  Reilly 
knelt  beside  her,  and  held  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  After 
a  long  trance,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  again  started. 
Reilly  pressed  her  hand  and  whispered  in  her  ear, 
*^  Helen,  I  am  with  you  at  last." 

She  smiled  on  him  and  said,  ^'  Help  me  to  sit  up, 
until  I  look  about  me,  that  I  may  be  certain  this  is  not 
a  dream." 

She  then  looked  about  her,  and  as  the  ladies  of  the 
family  spoke  tenderly  to  her,  and  caressed  her,  she 
fixed  her  eyes  once  more  upon  her  lover,  and  said,  ''  It 
hnot  a  dream,  then  ;  this  is  a  reality ;  but,  alas  !  Reilly, 
I  tremble  to  tiiink  least  they  should  take  you  from  me 
again." 

"You  need  entertain  no  such  apprehension,  my  dear 
Helen,"  said  the  lady  of  the  mansion;  "  I  have  often 
heard  your  father  say  that  he  would  give  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  to  have  you  well,  and  Reilly's  wife.  In 
fact,  you  have  nothing  to  fear  in  that  or  any  other 
quarter ;  but  there's  his  knock ;  he  and  my  husband 
have  returned,  and  I  must  break  this  blessed  news  to 
him  by  degrees,  lest  it  might  be  too  much  for  him,  if 
communicated  without  due  and  proper  caution." 

She  accordingly  went  down  to  the  hall,  where  they 
were  hanging  up  their  great-coats  and  hats,  and  brought 
them  into  her  husband's  study. 

"  Mr.  Folliard,"  said  she,  with  a  cheerful  face,  "  I 
think,  from  some  symptoms  of  improvement  noticed  to- 
day in  Helen,  that  we  needn't  be  without  hope." 


4[)G  WILLY    REILLT. 

"Alas,  alas!"  exclaimed  tlie  poor  father,  ''I  have 
no  hope  ;  after  such  a  length  of  time  I  am  indeed  with- 
out a  shadow  of  expectation.  If  unfortunate  Reilly 
were  here,  indeed,  her  seeing  him,  as  that  Sligo  doctor 
told  me,  might  give  her  a  chance.  He  saw  her  about 
a  week  before  we  came  down,  and  those  were  his  vv^ords. 
But  as  for  Reilly,  even  if  he  were  in  the  country,  how 
could  I  look  him  in  the  face  ?  what  w^ouldn't  I  give 
now  that  he  were  here,  that  Helen  was  well,  that  one 
word  of  mine  could  make  them  man  and  wife  I" 

"  Well,  well, "  she  replied,  ^' don't  be  cast  down  j 
perhaps  I  could  tell  you  good  news  if  I  wished ;" 

'^  You're  beating  about  the  bush,  Mary,  at  all  events,'' 
said  her  husband,  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  now,  Mr.  Folliard,"  she  continued,  "  I 
could  introduce  a  young  lady  who  is  so  fond  of  you, 
old  and  ugly  as  you  are,  that  she  would  not  hesitate 
to  kiss  you  tenderly,  and  cry  with  delight  on  your 
bosom,  you  old  thief." 

They  both  stared  at  her  with  amazement,  and  her 
husband  said,  ''Egad,  Alick,  Helen's  malady  seems 
catching ;  what  the  devil  do  you  mean,  Molly !  or 
must  I,  too,  send  for  a  doctor?" 

"  Shall  1  introduce  you  to  the  lady,  though  V  she 
proceeded,  addressing  the  father  ;  *'  but  remember  that 
if  I  do,  you  must  be  a  man,  Mr.  Folliard." 

'^  In  Grod's  name,  do  what  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton ;  ''  but  do  it  at  once." 

She  went  upstairs,  and  said,  "As  I   do  not   wish    to  , 
bring  your  father  up,  Helen,  until   he   is   prepared  for 
a  meeting  with  Mr.  Reilly,  I  wish  to  bring  you    down 
to  him.     The  sight  of  vou  notv   will   give  him  a   new 
life." 

^'O  come,  then,"  said  Helen,  "bring  me  to  my  fa- 
ther ;  do  not  lose  a  moment,  not  a  moment — O  let  me 
see  him  instantly  !" 

The  poor    old  man    suspected    something      "  For   a 


WILLY    REILLY.  457 

thousand,"  said  he,  ^^  this  is  some  good  news  about  Hei- 
en." 

"  Make  up  your  mind  for  that,"  repHed  his  friend ;  ''  aa 
sure  as  you  Hve  it  is  ;  and  if  it  be,  bear  it  stoutly." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Hamilton  enter- 
ed the  room  with  Helen,  now  awakened  into  perfect 
reason,  smiling,  and  leaning  upon  her  arm.  *'  0  dear 
papa  !"  she  exclaimed,  meeting  him,  with  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  resting  her  head  on  his  bosom. 

''  What,  my  darling — my  darling  !  And  you  know 
papa  once  more — you  know  him  again,  my  darling 
Helen !  0  thanks  be  to  God  for  this  happy  day  !" 
And  he  kissed  her  lips,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart, 
and  wept  over  her  with  eiistasy  and  delight.  It  was 
a  tender  and  tearful  embrace. 

"0  papa,"  said  she,  ^^I  fear  I  have  caused  you  much 
pain  and  sorrow ;  something  has  been  wrong,  but  I  am 
well  now  that  lie  is  here.  I  felt  the  tones  of  liis  voice 
in  my  heart." 

''  Who,  darling,  who  V 

^'  Reilly,  papa." 

*'  Hamilton,  bring  him  down  instantly — but  0  Helen, 
darling,  how  will  I  see  him  ?  how  can  I  see  him !  but 
he  must  come,  and  we  must  all  be  happ}^.  Bring  him 
down." 

^'  You  know,  papa,  that  Reilly  is  generosity  itself." 

"'  He  is,  he  is,  Helen  ;  and  how  could  I  blame  you 
for  loving  himf 

Reilly  soon  entered  ;  but  the  old  man,  already  over- 
powered by  what  had  just  occurred,  was  not  able  to 
speak  to  him  for  some  tim.e  ;  he  clasped  and  pressed 
his  hand,  however,  and  at  length  said : — 

'*  My  son,  my  son  !  Now,"  he  added,  after  he  had 
recovered  himself,  ''  now  that  I  have  you  both  together, 
I  will  not  allow  one  minute  to  pass  until  I  give  you 
both  my  blessing  ;  and  in  due  time,  when  Helen  gets 
strong,  and  when  I  get  a  little  stouter,  you  shall  be  mar- 


458  WILLY    REILLY. 

ried  ;  the  parson  and  the  priest  will  make  you  both  hap- 
py.    Reilly,  can  you  forgive  meV 

'^  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you,  sir/'  replied  Reilly; 
^'  whatever  you  did  proceeded  from  your  excessive  af- 
fection for  your  daughter ;  I  am  more  than  overpaid 
for  anything  I  may  have  suffered  myself;  had  it  been 
ages  of  misery,  this  one  moment  would  cancel  the  mem- 
ory of  it  forever." 

^'  I  cannot  give  you  my  estate,  Reilly,''  said  the  old 
man,  ^'for  that  is  entailed,  and  goes  to  the  next,  male 
issue  ;  but  I  can  give  you  thirty-five  thousand  pounds 
with  my  girl,  and  that  will  keep  you  both  comfortable 
for  life." 

*^I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Reilly, ''  and  for  the  sake 
of  your  daughter  I  will  not  reject  it;  but  I  am  myself 
in  independent  circumstances,  and  could  even  without 
your  generosity,  support  Helen  in  a  rank  of  life  not  un- 
suitable to  her  condition." 

In  a  few  months  afterwards  they  wei^e  married,  and 
lived  with  the  old  man  until  he  became  grandfather  to 
two  children,  the  eldest  a  boy,  and  the  second  a  girl. 
Age  and  time,  however,  told  upon  him  ;  and  at  the  ex- 
piration of  three  years  they  laid  him  with  many  tears, 
in  the  grave  of  his  fathers.  Soon  after  this,  Reilly  and 
his  wife  removed  to  the  Continent,  where  they  had  a 
numerous  family,  principally  of  sons  ;  and  we  need  not 
tell  our  learned  readers  at  least,  that  those  young  men 
distinguished  not  only  themselves  but  their  name,  by 
acts  of  the  most  brilliant  courage  in  continental  warfare. 
And  so,  gentle  reader,  ends  the  troubled  history  of 
Willy  Beilly  and  his  own  Coleen  Bawn. 


1 


